


The Rise and Fall

by MindfulWrath



Series: The Rise and Fall [7]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaffa Factory, M/M, Psychological Torture, Self-cest, Shadow of Israphel, Yoglabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets abound at YogLabs, and their number grows every day. There's one, in particular, that Xephos is keen to smother out completely--so keen, in fact, that he'll go to any length to ensure its complete destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Labwork

_ Research Journal 12 _

 

_ Day 254 _

_ Number Two started showing brain function today—nothing fancy, but the hypothalamus is up an drunning, so it's already doing better than Number One. Addition of redstone dust to the culture fluid seems to have accelerated growth, especially of the nervous system. Eyes developed fully between last night and this morning, but don't look to be relaying any information just yet, judging by the brainwaves. Oddly, eyes are green—some quirk of genetic ranomization that happens during the cloning process—which is encouraging, in its own way, although it's a long way from eye color to total personality overhaul. _

_ Possibly some brain formation fluke? Plenty of other test subjects came out braindead, but again, long way from that to different personality, and a longer way from testificate to human. Their brain structures are demonstrably simpler, which doesn't look good for us because if we can't clone  _ _ them _ _ reliably, it'll be even harder to clone  _ _ us _ _ properly, but again, maybe that's a good sign. _

_ Samples from the Templar site turned up blank, as expected. No trace of anything but dirt and sand and a few biological specimens—plants and bacteria mostly—but nothing more refined than that. No steel, glass, copper, rubber, anything. Site seems to have been as thorouly wiped of manmade constructions as the rest of the world. Unlikely we'll find anything useful there or anywhere, so abandoning that part of the project to put more man-hours into making the technology from scratch. Will have to look into borrowing a few testificates for the project—getting to be too much work for just me. _

_ Still, promising develompents in Number Two. Hopeful for continued progress. _

* * *

 

Lalna almost ran into Honeydew on his way down the B5 hallway, so preoccupied was he by his thoughts.

"Oh! Hullo," he exclaimed, taking a step back. "What're you doing down this far?"

Honeydew blinked up at him. "Er," he said.

"Lost again?"

"No," Honeydew guessed, peering around. "Xephos was . . . showing me something."

"Ah, right. Where's he got off to, then?"

"I'm . . . not sure."

Lalna clicked his teeth. "Typical. C'mon, I'm heading back up myself, I'll walk with you."

Nodding, Honeydew fell in beside him, still craning his neck to take in the hallway.

"How  _ is _ Xephos, anyway?" Lalna asked.

"Huh? Oh, y'know, same old Xephos."

"Really? He seems sort of . . . quiet, lately."

"Does he? I guess. Dunno what that's about."

Lalna looked at him askance. "Pretty sure it's obvious what that's about."

"Really?"

"Yeah, same thing it's been about for the past bloody  _ year. _ He just won't let go of it."

"Er? I uh, right, yeah. Classic Xeph."

Frowning, he asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

"Me? Fine, just . . . bit of a headache, that's all."

"Might have some painkillers up in my office, if you want some."

"No I'll—I'll be fine," Honeydew said.

They reached the elevator, and Lalna mashed the button with his thumb. Machinery whirred behind the chrome doors, and Lalna folded his arms.

"So . . ." Honeydew began, "what're  _ you _ doing down here?"

"Me? Oh, er, science, you know."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Just science. It's a bit complicated, you probably don't want to hear about it."

The elevator announced its arrival with a pleasant ding and the two of them stepped inside. Lalna swiped his ID card and pressed the ground-floor button. The elevator rose, playing smooth jazz just on the edge of hearing.

Honeydew had put his hands on his hips and was regarding Lalna with narrowed eyes.

"I'm halfway in charge of this place, I think I've a right to hear what's goin' on."

Rolling his eyes, Lalna sighed. "Well, all right," he conceded, mind whirring. "Since power consumption's been up, I've been working on developing a better coolant so we can increase the reactor size, because just adding one more fuel bundle should give us another half a million kilowatt hours—"

"Uhh," said Honeydew, "uh-huh?"

"So far the most likely candidate is gelid cryotheum, although making any useful amount of  _ that _ takes literally tons of redstone and a whole shitload of Blizz powder—which believe you me is a bitch and a half to extract, and we've only got the one centrifuge lab, not to mention the cost of solvents—"

"Oh?"

"Mm. We've been buying acetone in bulk from the government but of course  _ they _ think we're building ICBMs—which is ridiculous, it's not even the same isotope of uranium, and why in the hell would we need coolant for missiles—and you  _ know _ how much Xephos hates playing nice with the new government—"

"Oh God, does he ever," Honeydew blurted, with some relief. "Every time he goes over there he steals a printer or some shit."

Lalna raised his eyebrows. "Does he really? I was wondering where all those horrifically cheap office supplies were coming from. Do they know he does it?"

"Well yeah, prob'ly, but it's cheaper to just let him take shit than to try and, like, make him stop?"

"Yeah, probably. Besides, he might  _ actually _ start making missiles."

"Maybe he doesn't 'cause then he wouldn't be able to steal their printers anymore."

Lalna snorted, and the elevator dinged to a halt, doors sliding open. He stepped out, keeping his pace slow so Honeydew wouldn't have to hurry.

"Sure you don't want to drop by my office for a bit? I've got my own coffee maker, it's better than the company one."

"Eatin' raw coffee beans would be better than the company machine," Honeydew pointed out.

"That's true. How long d'you think before Xeph steals a new one from the government?"

Not long after, they parted ways, Honeydew to his office and Lalna to his. He took a detour, however, to the western corner office with the reinforced steel door. He knocked, then poked his head in through the crack in the door.

"Oy, Xeph."

Xephos looked up from the papers on his desk. Although impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed, he still had not managed to rid himself of that  _ hadn't-slept-in-three-days _ look.

"Oh! Hello, Lalna." He set his pen down. "What's up?"

"Not much. Honeydew's acting a bit odd. I found him wandering around B5, all out of sorts."

Xephos frowned. "What were you doing on B5?"

"Er . . . looking into the, er, just seeing if there was better—ah. . . ."

"You were snooping about for super-weapons again, weren't you."

"No! Well, I mean, sort of, you know what the Blizz situation's like."

"I've told you a hundred times, that's well under control."

"I lost four assistants last week!"

Xephos shrugged. "There's plenty of interns, you can pick up some more."

"That's not the  _ point. _ I know we've got the resources, I want to know where they're all  _ going." _

"Do you really think you're entitled to know everything that goes on in this place?"

"Yes!" He paused, then added, "I want to  _ help, _ Xeph."

"Well you can't," Xephos snapped, standing and slamming his hands down on his desk. "No one can."

"Look, I know you think you personally have to fix everything, but that's not true. You've got friends, Xeph."

"Friends who I got killed. Friends who  _ I _ killed."

"Oh, for the love of  _ God. _ That wasn't you, and you bloody well know it. Even  _ Rythian _ says that wasn't you, and he knows things."

"Rythian says that to  _ you," _ Xephos corrected.

Lalna stiffened. "What, and he says different to you?"

"Always has," he said, settling back into his seat. "Now, Lalna, if there's nothing else pressing, I  _ do _ have work to do."

"Still want to know what the hell's wrong with Honeydew."

"Nothing, I expect. He gets bored round here. Wandering about keeps him from breaking things."

"He wasn't well. Why aren't you listening to me?"

"Because you're wrong." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, if you're  _ that _ concerned, you can ask Testificate M.D. to have a look at him, all right? But  _ I _ am busy, and haven't got time for his little Jaffa-tantrums."

Lalna frowned at him, but Xephos wasn't looking, so eventually he turned to go. He paused in the doorway, however, and took a parting shot over his shoulder.

"I dunno when you got so bloody cold, but at this rate you'll be pissing cryotheum by the end of the month."

_ "What?" _ Xephos cried, but Lalna slipped out and slammed the door behind him before any further objections could be made.

* * *

 

After work, Lalna found his way to the bar near the village, a quaint little place whose unassuming exterior was belied by the hissing green monster in a cage on the roof. Lalna entered and settled into his accustomed seat at the bar.

The bartender turned and smiled at him, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Hiya, Lalna," she greeted him, taking down a tankard from the rack.

"Hi, Daisy."

She frowned at him, holding the tankard under the tap. He winced.

"Sorry.  _ Minty. _ I keep forgetting. I'll get the hang of it someday."

She nodded and poured him a beer.

"Long day?" she inquired, setting it before him.

"Mm. Honeydew's started acting funny, and Xephos has gotten even cagier, if that's possible."

"Good grief. Soon you'll be the only sane one left."

"Debatable."

"What, whether Honeydew's losing his mind?"

"Whether I've  _ ever _ been sane. Bit of a mad scientist, me."

"I was under the impression that near-death experiences tended to  _ restore _ sanity."

He grimaced. "You know, you haven't got to remind me  _ every time _ I come in here."

"Yes I have. It keeps your tab paid."

"You could just bring it up like a normal person."

"The four of you swan about calling yourselves  _ Heroes of Minecraftia _ all day, I think I'm entitled to feel a bit heroic for saving your sorry bum."

"Every  _ day?" _

"Sometimes twice a day, if Rythian comes in. You should see the way he looks at me."

"Shouldn't be looking at you at all," Lalna grumbled into his beer.

"Oh, it's not like that and you know it."

"Yeah, but do  _ you?" _

She stiffened. "Rythian is . . . an intriguing person, and a good friend. But I have no desire to step on anyone's toes or get in anyone's way, and besides, you  _ know _ he's head-over-heels for you, so I don't know what you're getting jealous about."

Lalna sighed. "Sorry. Long day. Long week, honestly. I haven't gotten to see him lately and it's driving me up the bloody wall."

"Don't you go home at night?"

"Yeah, but he won't leave his house—his bloody  _ castle, _ must've sold his soul to pay someone to build it for him—any time after dark and I've always got things to work on and it's just—ugh."

"Ugh, indeed. At least you've got the weekend, right?"

He glanced away. "Yeah, sort of. I've got a project that needs—nearly constant supervision."

"Haven't you got assistants for that?"

"It's not,  _ exactly, _ on the books."

She leaned her elbows on the bar, eyes sparkling. "Secret science. I love it. Tell me everything."

"No."

"Tell me  _ some _ things?"

"It's just—it's got to do with Xephos's . . . situation. And since he really,  _ really _ doesn't want anyone trying to help him, I thought it'd be better if I got some results before I showed it to him. Y'know, so he wouldn't fire me, or whatever."

"What he  _ needs _ is psychiatric help," Minty declared. "No one but him is hung up on this—thing of his. Not even me, and I've got the most right to be."

"You don't ever visit him, though," he pointed out.

"That's because he's frightening in his own right. If he wants to come in here for a beer or two, I'd be happy to see him. But I'm not meeting him on his ground. I'm not meeting  _ anyone _ on their own ground again."

"You could take the shotgun with you," Lalna suggested.

She grinned at him. "You say that like I've only got one."

* * *

 

"Ryth? You in here?"

There was a scuffling, and Rythian poked his head around the corner. His hair was in disarray, powder was smudged on his face, and there was a white cord looped behind his neck.

"Oh! Hello. You're home early."

Lalna peered at him. "Are you . . . wearing an apron?"

"What? No, that's ridiculous. Don't come in."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing! Just magic stuff, not interesting."

"Why does it smell like burnt toast?"

Rythian cursed and darted back around the corner.

"Ryth," Lalna warned.

"Don't come in!"

"It's my bloody kitchen!"

"Exactly! You already know what it looks like, you don't need to check again."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Magic stuff," Rythian said again, pouting.

"You've got a castle for that. Besides, I thought you didn't want to mess up my science with your magic."

"It's—different." He cursed again, and there was the clang of metal falling onto stone.

"All right, what  _ kind _ of magic stuff?"

"You'll see."

"Will I?" Lalna took a step forward, and Rythian poked his head around the corner again.

"But  _ not yet." _ He vanished into the kitchen again, and there was more clanging. "How's the lab?"

"Ugh," said Lalna, throwing himself onto his sofa.

"That bad?"

"It's not that things are difficult—it's that  _ people _ are difficult."

Rythian laughed. "Don't I know it."

"You don't know the half of it. Xephos won't even give me the budget to properly contain the Blizzes. I lost four assistants last week and he told me to just recruit some of the interns."

There was a deep, unnatural silence. Rythian walked around the corner, eyes blazing a deep turquoise. Something in his posture made the building seem less solid.

"Did he?" Rythian asked. His voice made Lalna's spine tingle. "And did you then make him bury the bodies?"

Lalna gaped at him like a fish out of water. "I, er, we uh, don't bury employees. Cremation only."

Rythian's eyes narrowed. "Will he be present? Will he watch their families grieve?"

"Ryth, stop it. Testificates die all the time, it's not—"

"It's not  _ what, _ Lalna?"

He gulped. "Not . . . Xephos's fault? I'm sure the budget's going to something important. We—that is to say, YogLabs—we  _ are _ feeding about half of the continent, which is basically charity work, but so much the better, right? And working on making everyone damn near immortal, which is—"

"A terrible idea."

The silence fell again, until Lalna remarked, "Kiss the Cook?"

Rythian looked down at himself, and the spell was broken. When his eyes returned to Lalna, he was blushing.

"It was the only one they had."

"You know those aren't required for cooking, right?"

He twisted the hem of the apron. "I like it, though."

Lalna smiled. "I like it, too. Though I've got to admit, I am a bit surprised. Didn't know you could cook."

"I haven't tried before."

"Christ, you're unbelievable. You lived in a hole for  _ years _ and ate, what, worms?"

"Souls. The souls of the damned."

He snorted. "Oh yes, of course, silly me." He sniffed. "Something's burning again."

Rythian bolted for the kitchen, and Lalna propped his feet up. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sighing. His whole body felt heavy, as though his bones had been filled with lead when he wasn't looking.

Next thing he knew, long fingers were carding through his hair and his head was resting on a slender thigh.

"Good morning," Rythian greeted him.

"Did you burn my house down while I was asleep?"

"Yes. Now you have to live in a hole in the ground and eat worms."

"Woe is me."

Rythian kissed his forehead. "I figured out how to make the eggs work."

"Oh, did you? Lovely."

"And Zoey brought over a big bowl of stew, so there's that too."

He frowned. "Zoey?"

"The girl who lives in the mushroom."

"Oh,  _ her. _ Don't suppose it was something palatable like beef stew?"

"Mushrooms."

He clicked his teeth. "Damn." He sat up, pausing to kiss Rythian's cheek. "C'mon, I'll show you how bread works."

Rythian lit up. "Really? I gathered it has to do with smushing it a lot."

"Something like that, yeah." He stood with a groan and tugged Rythian to his feet. "What time's it?"

"Very late," Rythian answered. He twined his fingers with Lalna's and nudged him with his shoulder. "I can't stay long."

Lalna pouted. "You could stay the night, you know."

_ "Nooo, _ no no, I really can't."

"You say that every time, but you've never explained why."

"At midnight, I turn back into a pumpkin."

He snorted, then kissed him. "Well, I won't keep you too long, then. Might have to make you into a pie or something."

"Oh  _ no, _ my worst nightmares, come true."

"Bet you'd make a tasty pie. C'mere, let me try a nibble."

Lalna fell upon him, teeth snapping, and Rythian squealed, batting at him and laughing. They toppled back onto the couch and Lalna pinned Rythian down, the better to bite his ear. Rythian kicked and wriggled, laughing all the while.

"Mm, pumpkiny," Lalna remarked. "Definitely gonna turn you into a pie."

"Pies aren't real where I'm from," Rythian told him.

"Nothing's real where you're from."

"That's accurate."

Lalna kissed his nose. "Should I put the blinds down?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Lalna closed his eyes. By touch, he found Rythian's mask and slipped it down. His breath was warm on Lalna's face, and his lips, when kissed, were curled into a smile.

"Think we can skip the bread-making?"

"We can postpone it. I like the idea of smushing wheat until it becomes pliant."

Lalna snorted. "Yeah, all right. I'm gonna fall asleep on you."

"You'll wake up on a pumpkin. No one must know."

He kissed him again. "Won't say a word," he promised, and nestled his head to Rythian's chest.

In the morning, true to expectation and counter to hope, he awoke cuddling a large, solid, fragrant pumpkin.

 


	2. Behind Closed Doors

_Log 8_

_The procedure seems to have gone off without a hitch, apart from some minor confusion and short-term amnesia, which is just as well, since memories of the procedure could undo the whole thing—possibly. Haven't looked into that yet. Hopefully no 'brush up' appointments will be needed, or if there are, I'll be able to stay through to the end. Consciousness did return a bit quicker than I had anticipated, otherwise I would have been there. Slightly unfortunate that Lalna stumbled through when he did, but he's hardly what I'd call tenacious, and if I give him the funding he keeps asking for, he'll forget all about it soon enough._

_Clearly, some aftercare is needed, though it's unclear at this point what it should be—medical, psychiatric, or otherwise. Testificate M. D. has given a clean bill of health, but then he's about as good of a doctor as I am a sculptor, so I don't trust his opinion completely. I haven't noticed anything to be particularly amiss, apart from occasional bouts of fatigue, confusion, inattention, and agitation, which are minor side-effects, considering. So I'm sure everything will be fine, provided I can keep Lalna from meddling._

_Lalna, in fact, presents a considerable problem. Until I can work out what he's been doing behind my back, I'm not confident the procedure will take with him. Besides that, he's rather more observant than Honeydew, and might well go snooping about if he finds something fishy. Minty presents an equally troublesome issue, with the added complication of how to even get her here in the first place._

_Rythian, on the other hand, is an entirely different problem, and one I'm not willing to tackle without Lalna's cooperation. I somehow doubt he would willingly submit to the kind of testing necessary._

_At any rate, barring late-onset disasters, everything's gone swimmingly with Honeydew._

_One down, four to go._

_End Log 8_

* * *

 

Xephos rapped his knuckles against Honeydew's door, though he could hear the dwarf snoring through the wood.

"Honeydew?" he called.

There was a loud snort, a clatter and a shuffle, and Honeydew yelled, "I—er—yes? I'm very busy!"

"Could I come in for a bit?"

"Yeah—uh, yeah, sure, I could uh, pencil you in."

Xephos opened the door and stepped inside. Honeydew was wiping drool out of his beard and straightening his helmet.

"Busy evening?"

"Oh, er, yeah, _loads_ to work on, you know how it is."

"I do," Xephos affirmed. "Listen, it's late, I was going to drop by the Captive Creeper and head home, I was wondering if you might like to come?"

"Oh? Yeah, I s'pose I could go for a few beers."

"That is, if you can take the time out of your _very_ busy schedule."

"What? Yeah, yeah, no worries, it uh, it can all wait." He stood, brushed himself off, and stumped over to Xephos, who opened the door for him. "Listen, I've been thinking."

"Oh dear."

"Don't you _oh dear_ me, spaceman, I'll rattle your bloody teeth."

Xephos held up his hands, falling into stride with Honeydew. "Sorry. Go on."

"You know how I've been talking about that Jaffa factory? Well, I think I've found a fantastic plot to put it on."

"Oh _God,_ don't tell me you've been talking to those sketchy deed salesmen."

"Sketchy? What? Listen, they're completely legit."

"When I asked them how much the land for this place would cost, they said, and I quote, _How much've you got?_ And besides that, none of the land is theirs to start with."

"'Course it is! They put flags in."

"That doesn't make it theirs!"

"Er, pretty sure it does. They got there first, it's theirs."

"There were people _living_ there before."

"Yeah, well, new world, new rules, right? 'Sides, didn't stop you from buying up this place, did it."

"I _employed_ everyone who used to live here."

"Oh, right, yeah, that makes it all hunky-dory. 'Specially since they keep _dyin'_ left and right."

"Hazards of the job. They knew what they were getting into. It was in their contracts."

"What, you mean that fucking _book_ you hand out to everyone? Good bloody thing you steal printers from the government, or we'd be broke on costs alone."

"I do not— _steal_ printers from the government!"

They pushed through the smaller of the front doors, out into the cool evening, and directed their steps towards the little village to the south.

"Yeah? Then where do we keep getting 'em from?"

"From—from people who make printers, look, why do you care?"

"Me? Care? Nah, just pushin' your buttons is all."

"You are infuriating."

"Yeah, and this is the most I've heard you talk in weeks."

A silence fell between them as they passed under the darkness of a grove of tall oaks.

"I've been . . . busy," Xephos said at last.

"Hasn't ever stopped you _talking_ before."

"Look, I just haven't been getting much sleep, all right? It's nothing to worry about."

"You mean it's nothing for _me_ to worry about."

"No, that's not—look, Honeydew, it's _fine._ I'm fine. All right?"

"Yeah, all right," he allowed. After a few more moments of silence, he went on, "So anyway, about that Jaffa factory."

"Do you even know anything about making Jaffas? Or, for that matter, factories?"

"Nah, but I figured we could get Lalna on to do the complicated bits."

"You mean _all_ the bits."

"I can farm cows, all right? I know how to do _some_ things."

"Right, of course, how could I forget. But don't you think it might be a bit, er, labor-intensive?"

"Yeah. It'll be good for us, y'know. Get out of this stuffy old lab for a while."

"I really can't leave things just now."

"Then when?"

He thought, chewing his lip. "Give me . . . three months. I should have it all wrapped up by then."

"Three _months?_ Jesus, what the hell're you working on, space travel?"

"Have you been snooping about downstairs again?"

"Oh my God, you're actually doing it. You're making a goddamn space program."

"N-no, I'm just . . . look, nobody _else_ is going to do it, we might as well—"

"You're going to go to _space_ before making Jaffas? 'S _wrong_ with you?"

"Look, space is significantly more important than Jaffas."

"How dare you."

"Honeydew—"

"How _dare_ you. Get out of my sight. I thought we were _friends._ It's like I don't even _know_ you anymore!"

Xephos's jaw clenched. "That's . . . not funny."

"No? Why not?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon, what's wrong?"

"I _said_ I don't want to talk about it, all right?" he snapped. "Could we _please_ just—talk about something else?"

"All right," said Honeydew, frowning. "This er, this space program. 'S it goin' well?"

Xephos sighed, reigning himself in. "Well enough, for something that only started a couple of days ago."

"Think we'll be able to put a Jaffa factory on the moon?"

He laughed, the sound bursting out of him without warning. "Sure, friend. We'll put a Jaffa factory on the moon."

* * *

 

Minty froze when they walked in the door, but by the time it had swung shut behind them she was back to bustling about behind the bar. The white expanse of Lalna's lab coat took up a seat and a half at the bar, and the last half was occupied by the thin black stick that was Rythian. Lalna turned, following Minty's look, and started, his eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. Rythian followed suit, and his eyes crinkled in a grin and he waved.

"We're very drunk!" he declared, delighted.

"Already?" Honeydew asked. "It's barely half ten!"

"And you've only just now got off work," Lalna said, frowning.

"I have," Xephos answered, sliding onto the stool next to Lalna. "Honeydew was sleeping."

"I _beg_ your pardon," he snapped, hoisting himself up beside Xephos. "I was doing very important work." He turned dewey eyes on Minty and propped his chin up on his hand. "Hallo, lovely."

She graced him with a smile and a tankard of beer. "Hallo, handsome. Been saving the world recently?"

Rythian tapped the bar with two fingers and pointed at the three to his right. "They didn't save anything."

"Oh, come off it," Lalna said, "you've said more than once you were only midwifing."

"And you fell over and bled a lot," Rythian responded, a sly look on his face.

"And I had to rescue you," Minty added. Rythian pointed at her and nodded.

"Excuse _you,_ but who was it killed Israphel in the first place?" Honeydew interrupted. "'Cause it wasn't you—er, was it?"

"It was you, friend," Xephos said, running over the end of Honeydew's question. Lalna shot him a grave look, which he ignored.

Rythian scoffed. "As if that was the hard part."

"Didn't see _you_ pullin' it off," Honeydew said.

"I was—busy."

"With what, regrowin' your bloody arm?"

"Oy," Lalna snapped, "we don't talk about that."

"Really? 'Cause I think we maybe should."

"It could be useful in getting the cloning to work—" Xephos began. Lalna made panicked gestures and shushed him. Rythian had gone very still.

"It couldn't," he said.

"Look, you don't know that—"

"Shut _up,_ Xeph," Lalna warned.

Four more tankards of beer slammed down on the bar, and Minty grinned at them.

"This one's on the house," she announced.

"Ooh, my favorite," Rythian chirped, stealing one of the beers and cradling it in his hands. Honeydew prostrated himself on the bar to reach, his feet kicking over his stool. Xephos pushed one of the tankards to him, then snagged one for himself. Lalna caught his arm in a death grip and put his mouth to Xephos's ear.

"If you touch him," he growled, "I will see you in bits."

"Lucky me, I don't plan on touching him," Xephos responded, and took a sip of his beer.

"Like hell you don't."

"Lalna, please let go of my arm."

Lalna gave him a sharp jerk. "I mean it, Xephos."

"And I'd really not like to have a bar brawl just now, _if_ that's all right with you."

After a moment more, Lalna relinquished his grip and curled around his beer, grim and brooding.

"What's got into him?" Honeydew wondered.

"What a fantastic question," said Minty, her gaze lingering on Xephos. "I suppose we may never know."

"He's a jealous child, is what's got into him," Xephos declared. Lalna glared at him, fist tightening on the handle of his tankard.

Rythian draped himself over Lalna's shoulders and nuzzled the back of his neck.

"The most precious jealous child," he cooed. Lalna flushed.

"Not here," he requested.

Rythian headbutted his shoulder and relegated himself to leaning on Lalna and playing with the collar of his lab coat.

"They're disgusting, aren't they," Honeydew remarked, with a certain fondness.

"Now _you're_ jealous."

"A bit, yeah. How come you never smooch _me_ in bars?"

"What—why on _earth_ would I do that?"

"It'd be adorable," Minty offered. "Not like you two haven't been making eyes at each other since I first saw you."

"We have not been— _making eyes!"_ Xephos declared, heat rising under his collar.

"Speak for yourself," Honeydew said, batting his eyelashes. "C'mon, friend, one little kissy."

"I will throw you _out_ the nearest window."

"You'll open it first," Minty told him.

Honeydew had puckered his lips and was making moist noises at Xephos.

"Kiss him," Rythian encouraged, leaning on the bar.

"Don't _you_ start!"

His eyes twinkled. "It's very pleasant."

Lalna rounded on him. "What the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Honeydew cackled.

"You _haven't,"_ said Minty, delighted.

"Some things are not for mortals to know," Rythian stated, waving a hand.

Lalna snatched him by the collar and jammed him up against the bar. Xephos staggered back out of his stool. Minty's hands darted under the bar. Honeydew cursed and fumbled his beer.

"You _haven't,"_ Lalna snarled.

"Jesus Christ, it was a bloody _joke!"_ Honeydew cried. Lalna rounded on him.

"Well it wasn't very fucking funny, was it?"

"That's enough, Lalna," Minty said, her hands clenched on something beneath the bar.

Lalna glared at her, then shoved Rythian back, turned on his heel, and stalked towards the door.

"I'm goin' home," he snapped, and slammed the door behind him.

"The fuck's _his_ problem?" Honeydew wondered.

"Rythian?" Minty asked. "You all right?"

"I—" he began, his voice hoarse. "I should go after him."

"I really think you shouldn't," said Xephos.

Rythian only shook his head, his eyes welling with tears. "Minty, put—just put the drinks on my tab. I'm sorry." And he darted out after Lalna.

"Well," Honeydew sighed, after a long moment of silence. "If that ain't the shittest thing that's happened all week."

Minty was pale to the lips, and her hands trembled as she went back to cleaning glasses.

"You all right?" Xephos asked. She shook her head. "That happen often?"

"Never," she croaked. "I've . . . never seen him like that."

"Hm. Remind me to never make him angry."

"Xephos?" she said. _"Never_ make him angry."

* * *

 

Midnight had come and gone, and Xephos was stalking the deep basements of YogLabs, peering in each door as he went by. The rooms here were large and square, accommodating a wide variety of experimental technologies. In one room was a tiny farm with an artificial sun, gone dark for the night; in another, a monstrous engine lay spread across the floor in its component pieces.

With each room he passed, Xephos made a tick on the clipboard he carried. On it was a list of rooms, the stated project for each room, and the name of the principal investigator for each project. Some of the rooms were clearly not being used for their intended purpose—doctors Gozencrantz and Ruildenstern appeared to have set up a bocce ball court where they were supposed to be working on an improved growth culture for the burgeoning clone program. Xephos made a note to speak with them about it, then let himself in and torched the offending accoutrements.

At the very end of the hall were the rooms that had not been assigned to anyone, and stood ready to receive any worthy projects. These rooms were cavernous and dark, and hummed with the silence of an empty theater.

All except the very last room on the left, which hummed with the sound of busy machinery.

"Aha," said Xephos, his face bathed in the dim green light from inside. "So _this_ is what you've been hiding."

He let himself in, taking care to keep his ingress silent.

The room was filled with nine black cubes, each whirring away in the glow from a panel on its side. The ceiling above was lost in darkness, propped up by the tangle of wires that swept out from the cubes. There was the tangy scent of redstone and the heavy murk of lake water, both overcut by the clinical sharpness of disinfectant.

Xephos slipped between the cubes, circling each one. They had a single glass panel in one side, showing a dark and hollow interior laced with tubes and wires. Some were filled with a greenish fluid in which bubbles hung suspended, creeping inch by inch towards the top of the tank. The screens each bore the simple message, _INACTIVE._

The exception being the cube in the far corner of the room.

When Xephos circled to the side with the glass, he froze, staring in at the gloomy green tank.

Suspended within, green eyes wide open, intubated and wired up and stripped to the skin, was Lalna.

After a moment's pause, Xephos waved his hand in front of the staring eyes. There was no response. Keeping Lalna in his peripheral vision, he turned his attention to the screen.

_STATUS: 84% COMPLETED_

Beneath that, there were several squiggling lines—one was a heartbeat, slow but definitive. The one below was steadier, fluctuating in gentle curves that matched the tempo of the heartbeat—blood pressure, he assumed, or possibly blood oxygen. The third line was erratic, maintaining a low but random level of activity, exhibiting an occasional sharp spike for no apparent reason. Judging by the electrodes poking out from under Lalna's wild-floating hair, this was most likely brain activity.

Xephos stood back and put his hands on his hips, regarding the man in the tank.

"Just what the hell are you up to?" he wondered.

Lalna blinked.

Xephos leapt back, cracking his shoulder against the wall. His eyes darted to the screen, which showed a sudden, massive spike on the third line, which settled again into the pensive meandering of before.

"Calm down, it was only a blink," Xephos said to himself, though his heart was pounding. He approached the tank again as though it were a house of cards and tapped on the keypad next to the screen. A box popped up on the display, requesting, _PASSWORD?_

"Oh, you clever little shit," he grumbled, drumming his fingers on his arm.

After a few moments of thought, he typed in, _Enderborn._

The box jumped, and the prompt flashed. _PASSWORD?_

Xephos clicked his teeth. "Damn. Cleverer than that."

Next, he tried, _Greebo._

Again, the insolent bounce of the box, and the blinking, _PASSWORD?_

"God dammit, Lalna."

_I-am-a-stupid-fuck._

The box jumped, but this time the message changed. _LOGIN FAILED. TRY AGAIN IN 1 HOUR._

Xephos punched the console. The message disappeared, returning the screen to its previous display.

"Fine, _fine._ You know what, that's just _fine,_ don't let me in." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A thought occurred to him, and he looked up at the ceiling. He turned slowly, considering the expanse of it, the darkness of the wall at his back. A smile twitched at his lips.

"That'll work nicely," he remarked, and hurried from the room, taking care to lock the door behind him.

 


	3. Digging

_Dear Diary,_

_Some weird shit is going on round here. Maybe it's something in the coffee, but I haven't felt right for a god damn week. Xeph says it's nothing, and that I shouldn't mention it to Lalna because he's very busy and wouldn't be able to help anyway because he's bloody useless with anything that isn't a machine. I said all right, but when are we going to get about that Jaffa factory? And he said 'three months from now,' just like always._

_Minty's introduced me to a lovely group of people down at the bar, said I might find 'em better company than all those stuffy white-coats at the lab. They all live in the village with Lalna and Rythian, and I guess they're all right, for not being dwarves. Don't seem too interested in digging holes, but they're at least good conversation. One of 'em's got this thing about mushrooms, which is sort of close to hole-digging, but not close enough for my liking. There's another one who keeps trying to sell me dirt, which I keep saying is stupid since it's the OPPOSITE of digging, but he's pretty well deaf to it. The little fella with the cat is the best of 'em, in my opinion, since he's got that same thing Rythian does with loving every damn thing that comes in front of his face._

_I had that thing happen again, that tip-of-the-tongue thing the other day. Can't remember what I was doing, but it set something off, like I'd forgotten something, and I got all weird and trembly and pissy for no reason, and sort of scared. Can't guess why, but it's the second time this week. Haven't said anything about it to Xeph, since he'll say it's nothing, and I haven't said anything to Lalna 'cause why would he care? But maybe I'll talk to Rythian about it, or Minty._

_Probably Rythian. I should introduce him to cat-guy. They'd get along like a house on fire._

* * *

 

Rythian opened the door to him and burst into a grin.

"Hi! You're early, I was just finishing up."

"Sorry, hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," he said, waving a hand. "Ten seconds, then I'm all yours."

Honeydew stumped in and wiped his boots on the doormat.

"God, it's good to be out of that lab," he remarked, following Rythian into the main room of the mock-castle.

"Nice to have a vacation?"

He snorted. "Nice to be _doing_ anything for once. My job's basically boiled down to _don't fucking touch anything."_

Rythian laughed. He lifted the lid on an ornate silver chest situated on a marble pillar and peered in. He fished a few large crystals out of another, nearby chest and tossed them in. There was a flash of light and the chest rumbled. Rythian closed it again and wiped his hands, turning back to Honeydew.

"All done. What was it you needed?"

"Well," Honeydew hedged, "didn't _need_ anything, precisely, just sort of wanted to know if you might like to go hole-diggin' with me. Haven't got my pick dirty in weeks."

Rythian raised an eyebrow. "Is that a euphemism or. . . ?"

He held up his hands and waved them. "No no! I'm bein' serious, here. I'm a dwarf, I've got to dig, see."

"Ah, right. Of course." He put a hand on his hip and sighed. "I could do with some raw materials. Let me grab a couple of things—oh, and drop by Lalna's to leave a note—and I'll be ready."

Honeydew frowned. "Leave a note? Really?"

He shrugged, turning away. "I don't want him to worry."

"Yeah, all right," he allowed. "Shouldn't take _that_ long, though."

"Just in case. He does worry about me."

"Don't see why. You're practically indestructible."

Rythian shook his head. "That's not what he's worried about," he said, and drifted off into the next room.

When he had gone, Honeydew crept over to the silver chest and considered it, brow furrowed. He prodded it with one finger—it was hot to the touch, and vibrating with internal movement. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he stood on his tiptoes and lifted the lid, peering in.

A glowing white mist shrouded the bottom of the chest, and several black orbs protruded from it, jostling each other as the chest vibrated. Other things were rattling and hissing out of sight, and as he watched, another sphere blossomed up from the mist, growing until it was the size of its fellows. Fascinated, Honeydew reached down inside, stretching his fingers towards one of the sleek balls.

"Don't touch those bare-handed," Rythian warned. Honeydew cracked the back of his head on the lid and fell over. Had the chest not been heavier than the earth, it would have tumbled over on top of him. The lid slammed shut, and the chest gurgled.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh, it's fine," Rythian assured him, patting the chest. "It's just that dark matter will take all the skin off your fingers if you try to pick it up."

 _"Dark matter?_ Is that what you're making in there?"

"It's an excellent fuel," he said. "And makes really _cool_ armor."

"You said it'd take your skin off!"

"And?"

"You can't wear something like that as armor!"

"Maybe _you_ can't, but that's just because you don't wear a shirt."

"I'm naturally warm-blooded, shirts are too hot."

"I wouldn't doubt it for a moment."

Honeydew picked himself up and dusted himself off, though Rythian's floors were spotless. He looked the mage up and down, frowning.

"What the hell's that pick made of?"

Rythian glanced at the black and gold tool hooked over his shoulder. "Dark matter," he said.

"Bloody _hell,_ Ryth, is this—"

Rythian made an odd strangled noise and put a hand over his mouth.

"What?" Honeydew demanded.

"No, sorry, nothing. Just, only Lalna ever calls me _Ryth._ It's really _weird_ hearing it come from someone else."

"Er, sorry—"

"It's fine." He waved a hand. "Did you have a particular dig site in mind?"

"Uh? Oh. Err, nah, not really. I usually just wing it."

"That works for me. Lead on."

Honeydew did so, and Rythian followed close behind, drifting along as though his clothes were the heaviest part of him.

"So er, this dark matter stuff. Makes good picks?"

"Nearly the best," Rythian answered, a note of pride in his voice. "And makes for an excellent conduit, too."

"Conduit?"

"For exerting force. Magic."

"Ohh. Can't you just, y'know, do that with your hands?"

Rythian wiggled a hand and made a noncommittal noise. "You _can,_ but it isn't a good idea. Raw magic has a way of going bad."

"But with all the ice stuff—"

"That was different."

"How?"

"I _had_ a focus. It was just internal."

"You mean you haven't got it anymore?"

Rythian glanced down at him and raised an eyebrow. "It's a miracle that _any_ of me survived the rebirth. We lost a lot of things in the fire."

"Rebirth? What? You haven't gone all religious on me, have you?"

He laughed. "No, I promise I haven't gone religious. I mean after you killed Israphel, and all the energy he'd stolen went back where it belonged."

"Uhhh. . . ."

"Big green laser?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, okay. And that was the thing that sort of remodeled the whole . . . everything."

"With a little help."

"What, you?"

"Me." The pride in his voice was bordering on smugness. "Otherwise this whole place would be a smoking pile of Flux."

"And what the hell is Flux?"

"What happens when raw magic is left on its own. It's chaos. It's sort of like—like nuclear things."

"What do _you_ know about nuclear shit?"

"Lalna likes to talk," Rythian mentioned, a smile in his voice. "A lot."

"God, does he ever. But you actually _understand_ what he's saying?"

"Some of it. When I listen. But from what I gather, nuclear works like this: if you put it in a box and give it a specific channel to run through, it's extremely useful and mostly harmless. But if you leave it to its own devices, it'll poison the whole world."

"And Flux is like that?"

"In a general sense. It doesn't so much poison things as _eat_ them."

"And Israphel had a shitload of that sitting under his castle?"

Rythian frowned, and was quiet for a time. "No," he hedged, "but he should have."

"No proper containment?"

"Exactly. The whole place should have been ruined with it— _he_ should have been ruined with it—but it wasn't. He wasn't. But there was so much Flux in him I could _taste_ it, and I don't understand why it hadn't killed him."

"Well, how come all that ice-power shit didn't kill you?"

"That was different."

"Y'know, it'll save me breath if you'll just go ahead and explain whenever you say _it's different_ instead of making me ask you every time." He planted his feet and slung his pick off of his shoulder. "This's a good place to start."

They were standing on a gently sloped rocky outcrop, pale limestone spotted with lichens, struck through with black speckles and meandering dark smudges.

"Your dwarf-senses say so?" Rythian asked, toeing the ground.

"Nah, my dwarf-feet are tired."

"Ah, brilliant reasoning." He swung his pick up and brought it down, and the rock _shattered._ The pick buried itself up to the hilt, and Rythian stumbled forward on his own momentum, laughing.

"Jesus _Christ,"_ Honeydew said, gaping at the pick.

"Right?" said Rythian, breathless. "It's like hitting butter. Try it, it's fun."

"No _thank_ you," Honeydew replied. "I'll stick with my not-terrifying normal pick, if it's all the same to you."

Rythian shrugged. "Suit yourself." He yanked the pick out of the rock one-handed and propped it back up on his shoulder.

"Show off," he grumbled, beard twitching. Rythian grinned.

They set to work, trading off swings, although it was clear that Rythian was contributing far more to the progress of the tunnel, even if Honeydew was contributing more effort.

Up to the neck in rock, chipping away at a shallow tunnel on the hunch that there was a cave under there somewhere, Honeydew mustered his courage and spoke.

"So, er, about the mask—"

Rythian's pick rang against the rock, scattering another web of cracks through it.

"What about it?" he inquired.

Honeydew took his own swing, cracking off a sizable chunk of limestone. "Well, I mean . . . what's under it?"

"A face." _Crack,_ went his pick.

"But why d'you wear it, then?" _Clink,_ went Honeydew's.

"Why don't _you_ wear one?"

_Crack, clink, crack, clink._

"It's not, like, your womanly lips or something, is it?"

 _Crack._ "No."

 _Clink._ "Bad beard?"

 _Crack._ "Why are you asking so many questions?"

 _Clink._ "Curiosity?" he guessed. "Thought we might be at a point in our friendship to talk about it."

"Did you?" _Crack._ "Interesting." _Clink._

"Look, I'm just askin'." _Crack._

"And I've answered." _Clink._

_Crack. Clink. Crack. Clink._

"You're not, like, horribly disfigured under there or—"

Rythian swung the pick so fast that Honeydew couldn't track the motion, and there was an ear-splitting _cra-KACK_ and the whole mountain trembled, and fully six feet of rock in front of them shattered into gravel and crumbled down.

"Stop asking questions," Rythian suggested.

Honeydew stared at him in silence, and Rythian stared at the scree slope in front of him, the pick gripped too tight in his shaking hand.

"One hell of a pick you've got there," Honeydew commented eventually, though his throat was parched.

"Thanks!" Rythian chirped, picking his way up the mound of gravel. "It took six days and fifty-one diamonds."

"Seems like it was, um, worth it," Honeydew mentioned, wary of breaking the _no questions_ rule.

"Oh, absolutely. I could make you one, if you wanted."

They continued to make stilted, chipper conversation until they were both sweaty and noodle-armed, by which point they'd found little more than a few interesting marine fossils.

"Was _sure_ there'd be a cave down there," Honeydew lamented, shaking his head as they trekked back up the short tunnel to the surface.

"There could be," Rythian said. "We didn't get very far."

"Eh, that's fair. Listen, I was gonna drop by a friend's house before headin' back. Free to come along if you like, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Rythian glanced to the side, adjusting the pick on his shoulder. "I . . . probably shouldn't."

"It won't take but a minute. I think you'd like him."

"It's late."

"Well, suit yourself. Just thought you might like to meet his cats."

Rythian looked at him, head tilted to one side.

"What's a cat?"

* * *

 

The noise that came out of Rythian's mouth could have shattered wine glasses. The man standing in the doorway was of average height and had a pleasant roundness to his figure, with long dark hair and large dark eyes and a huge tomcat draped over his shoulders.

Rythian darted forward and stopped on a dime, pressing his fingers to his lips. The cat opened one eye and regarded him with no small amount of disdain.

"Oh my _God,"_ Rythian squeaked. "Oh my _God,_ it's so _cute!"_

"Yeah?" said the man with the cat, his voice thick with a wooly accent. "His name's Mr. Cat."

"Hello, Mr. Cat," Rythian breathed.

"D'you want to hold him?" the man asked.

Rythian looked like he was about to start crying. "Could I?"

"Absolutely," he answered, grinning. He reached back over his head and cautiously took hold of the cat. It dug its claws into his shirt, cracking its eyes open and lashing its tail. "Oh, don't be like that. Look, you can sit on _his_ shoulders if you want, then you'll be even taller."

"Er, Rythian," Honeydew put in, while the man pried the cat off his shoulders. "This is Nilesy. Nilesy, Rythian."

Rythian turned to Honeydew, eyes shining. "I love him," he declared.

Nilesy cackled while Mr. Cat slapped him repeatedly in the face with his tail. "Is that all I had to do to get a date? I should wear the cat around more often."

"He says that about everyone," Honeydew said.

"That's adorable," Nilesy remarked. He finally extracted himself from the claws of Mr. Cat and presented the drooping tom to Rythian. "Careful, he scratches."

As though accepting the Holy Grail, Rythian reached out and took the cat. Mr. Cat wriggled for a moment, but went limp and started purring like an outboard motor when Rythian cradled him to his chest.

"Oh, he _likes_ you," Nilesy said, folding his arms.

"Hello," Rythian murmured, rubbing the cat's chin. "I'm Rythian."

The cat narrowed his eyes to bare slits and started kneading his arm.

"Surprised he knows what the purring's about," Honeydew commented, watching the blossoming romance with approval.

"Endermen do it too," Rythian explained, still wrapped up in the cat.

"How the hell do you know _that?"_ Nilesy wondered, taking a half step back.

"I wouldn't ask him too many questions, if I were you," Honeydew cautioned.

"You've never tickled one under the chin?" Rythian asked.

"Er," said Nilesy, "no."

"You should try it sometime, it's very rewarding." He paused, frowning. "Maybe not. I'm not sure what touching them would do to a mortal."

Nilesy threw a significant look at Honeydew and mouthed, _Mortal?_

Honeydew shrugged and pulled a face. Rythian had gone back to cooing over the cat, repeatedly telling him how handsome and strong he was. The cat rubbed his face on Rythian's chin.

"D'you like him, then?" Nilesy asked Rythian, raising an eyebrow.

"I love him," Rythian declared, and nuzzled the cat's back.

"I've got more," he mentioned.

Rythian looked up at him, eyes wide and sparkling. "There's _more?"_

"Oh, yes. Baby ones, too."

He made the wine-glass shattering noise again. Mr. Cat put a delicate paw on his lips, ears flattened back.

"I'll er, leave you two to it then, shall I?" Honeydew said.

"What? No," Rythian said, turning to him with something like fear. "You might need to vouch for me later."

"Vouch—? What, you mean like, explain to Xeph that you haven't been off chatting up the government?"

Rythian laughed. He transferred Mr. Cat to his shoulders, where he promptly settled down into a thick fur ruff and went back to purring.

"No, not that. Lalna doesn't like it when I'm alone with people for too long."

"You and me were diggin' holes all day!" he objected.

"Oh, I was just going to tell him that Zoey was there, too. By the way, if he asks, Zoey was there too."

"Er," said Nilesy, casting cagey glances around his yard, "I don't want to cause any trouble."

"You won't," Rythian assured him. "If anyone's causing trouble, it's me. But I understand if you don't want to be dragged into it. I wouldn't want to ruin any friendships."

"Look, I'll just—I'll just come in, shall I?" Honeydew said, stepping up to Rythian's elbow. "Keep things simple."

"Thanks," said Rythian, and patted his shoulder.

* * *

 

Rythian and Honeydew walked back through the dusk in companionable silence. Rythian was cradling a tiny tabby kitten to his chest, dipping his head every so often to kiss it.

"Amazed he parted with it," Honeydew remarked, gesturing to the kitten. "He doesn't usually like to give 'em away."

"That's because no one appreciates them," Rythian said. The kitten was doing its level best to purr and making clumsy headway. "Besides, he can always visit."

"That's true. And she _does_ seem happy with you."

"Doesn't she? I love her." He bent his head and kissed the kitten. "Lalna's going to be so angry," he said gleefully.

"Yeah, er, speaking of which. . . ."

Rythian glanced at him.

"About that . . . thing, at the bar the other night. Er, I wanted to say I was sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"Y'know, er . . . settin' things off? Seemed like everything was goin' fine until I opened my idiot mouth."

"No no, it wasn't your fault. I should've known better."

"Is Lalna all right?"

"Oh, yes, he's fine. He's very protective."

"You don't say," he intoned.

"Well, you can hardly blame him, can you. I'm not exactly a paragon of virtue."

"A polygon of what now?"

Rythian grinned and kissed the kitten again. "He'll be all right. It took some consoling—of various natures—"

 _"Bit_ too much information, there."

"Sorry. But he doesn't usually stay upset for very long. Just needs reassuring that I still love him best and most of all."

Honeydew sighed. "Wish that worked on Xeph."

"I've noticed he hasn't been well."

"Nah, something's happened. He works all god damn day and night and won't even _try_ to explain to me what it's about. Just _don't touch anything, there's a good dwarf._ Which I get, right? I'm a bit shit at most things that aren't hole-digging, but I wish he'd just tell me what's _wrong._ Not like we're _friends_ or anything."

"You sound bitter."

"As a god damn lemon."

"Would you like to hold a kitten? Many people find holding kittens to be a solution to all life's problems."

"Nah, she seems happier with you. Mostly I just want Xeph to _talk_ to me, tell me what's wrong."

"I'd think it's pretty obvious what's wrong."

"See, there, people keep sayin' that, and I have no idea what they're talking about."

Rythian gave him a strange look, calculating, as though he were estimating the length of the dwarf's intestines.

"The government," he said, placing each word with deliberate care. "Of course. Because what else would he have to be upset about?"

"S'pose you're right," Honeydew replied, although Rythian's continued attention was making his stomach curl up. "Just didn't think things were that bad, y'know?"

"Yes," Rythian said, "I know."

 


	4. Guardian

_Research Journal 12_

 

_Day 262_

_Number Two drowned in his tank last night. He must have woken up while I was gone and panicked. The glass is cracked and there's blood on his knuckles and knees. The culture should have been enough to keep him alive, but he must have breathed up all the oxygen in it faster than it could be replaced, struggling like that. Went through the records, seems like everything was fine until he woke up. Should be able to isolate the pre-consiousness brainwaves and program in some sort of alarm system to warn me before Number Three wakes up so it won't all happen again. Ideally, we'll be able to do away with the culture fluid entirely, at some point in the future, but if not, I can probably rig up something to automatically drain the tank._

_Trying to get that warning system in place before Number Three develops much further—halting the process could kill it before it even gets the chance to drown itself. It's only just coming out of the fetal stages at the moment, but juging by the speed of Number Two's progress, I only have about a few days before it starts to show brain function._

_Testing on testificates is yielding better and better results, though. Percentage of in vitro  death has halved since the addition of redstone to the culture fluid, and over a quarter of the clones are now nuerologically stable. None of them are  functional, and most of them tend to wind up gibbering on the floor anyway, so overall they're pretty useless. Cleanup of the bodies is getting to be more trouble than it's worth, but maybe once we get some of the more stabel clones oriented, we can put them on mopping up duty. _

_Come to think of it, should look into picking up a few clones to help out round here._

* * *

 

It was an hour past sunset, and Rythian had not come home.

Lalna was pacing the foyer of Rythian's castle, hands clasped behind his back, frowning at his feet. He'd been in the lab most of the day, but coming home to an empty house—and an empty castle, too—had been the worrisome cherry on a sundae of frustration.

He'd already made a thorough search of the castle, and while not everything he'd found had been unremarkable—the jars of blood, for example, or the thick spools of gold wire—nothing he'd found had given any clue as to where its owner had gone.

The door drifted open and Rythian nudged his way in, cradling something in his arms.

"Where in the _hell_ have you been?" Lalna demanded, storming over to him.

Rythian looked up, startled, halfway through toeing the door closed. The thing in his arms turned out to be a tiny, sleeping kitten.

"And where the hell did you get _that?"_

"Sorry," Rythian said, averting his eyes. "Honeydew asked me to come out digging, and I was running low on—"

"No, where did you get the cat?"

"I—oh, we stopped by Nilesy's on the way back. It was Honeydew's idea!" he hastened to add. "I didn't _mean_ to take one home."

"Ryth, you _can't_ keep it."

He met Lalna's eyes, and the pain on his face was palpable. "But—"

"It'll die. You _know_ you can't take care of living things, look what happened to the plants."

"That was different."

"Yeah, plants are a lot harder to kill than kittens. Look, give it here, I'll keep it at my place, it'll be safer."

"I—but I . . . she's mine."

Lalna shook his head. "And if you try to keep her here, she'll die. Do you know _anything_ about keeping cats? No, of course you don't, because you don't know anything about taking care of _anything._ You can barely take care of yourself most days."

Rythian was trembling, holding the cat to his chest and petting it behind the ears. "I just . . . I love her."

He softened, and put a gentle hand on Rythian's arm. "I know you do. Which is why I can't let you keep it. I don't want you to get your heart broken, especially not over something that's your fault. You know how you get with guilt. I'll take good care of it, Ryth. And you can visit any time you want."

His eyes were bright and blurry with tears. Lalna moved his hand to Rythian's cheek and then kissed him through the mask.

"I love you. And I'm doing this for your own good."

"I . . ." Rythian began, and then deflated. "Okay. Thank you."

Lalna kissed him again. "I promise, it's for the best."

Rythian sniffled, and a tear slipped over his eyelid and went wandering down his cheek. Lalna wiped it away with his thumb.

"Nothing to cry over, Ryth," he murmured. "Please don't cry. I hate when you cry."

"Sorry," Rythian croaked.

Lalna took the kitten from his unresisting hands and settled it in the crook of his elbow. "Now. D'you want to tell me why you were out alone with Honeydew all day?"

"Weren't alone," Rythian said, his eyes lowered. "Zoey was there."

"Who's Zoey?"

"Mushroom girl."

"Ah, right. What the hell were you doing out with Honeydew and mushroom girl?"

"Just digging. Needed raw materials for that." He gestured to the silver alchemical condenser, shrouded in a fine mist. Grey hairs were clinging to the black of his shirt.

"Can't really picture mushroom girl digging. Can't really picture _you_ digging, either, but I s'pose you're full of surprises." He meandered into the next room and settled onto Rythian's couch. Rythian followed soon after, and Lalna patted the cushion beside him. Rythian sat and curled his legs under him, hands clasped in his lap.

"You're not . . . angry?" Rythian asked after a moment.

"Me? No, of course not. Why would I be? I was only worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I _meant_ to leave a note."

"Oh, hush, stop apologizing." He kissed Rythian's cheek. "What say I spend the night here, make up for lost time?"

He shook his head. "You can't."

"Why not?"

After a moment of hesitation, he said, "You have to take care of the kitten."

"Oh, right. Yeah, s'pose I should do that. I adopted it, after all. Should come up with a name, too."

"Julie," Rythian murmured.

"What? _Julie?_ That's a terrible name." He grinned, and when Rythian didn't respond, he nudged him with an elbow. "I'm joking, Ryth. If you really want to name it Julie, then we'll name it Julie."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you," Lalna cooed. He leaned on Rythian, resting their heads together. He paused, chewing his lip. "I do love you, Rythian. You know that."

"I love you, too."

"No, I mean it. I'm not just saying it. It's . . . I trust you."

He felt the little shiver run through Rythian, and then the long fingers come to rest on the inside of his wrist.

"I trust you," he murmured back.

"Then let me stay the night."

"That's not—it's not about trusting you—I'm just not—"

"Not what?"

Rythian shrank into himself. "Not . . . ready."

"Oh," said Lalna. _"Oh._ You know it doesn't have to be that, right? Can just be, like, normal stuff?"

"I don't want to disappoint you."

"You could _never_ disappoint me. I would never want to rush you into anything."

His head bowed lower. "It's been almost a year."

"And it can be a hundred, for all I care. I'm not in a hurry, Ryth. I want to stay because I love you and I like being close to you, and for no other reason."

"You still have to take care of Julie."

"I'll bring her an entire roast chicken from home."

He chuffed out something like a laugh. Lalna kissed his temple and looped an arm around his shoulders. Rythian leaned into the touch, and a sparkling warmth spread through Lalna, moving outwards from his heart.

"Nilesy said lots of water with the meat."

"What? Oh, for the cat. Yeah, I've had cats before, Ryth, I know how it works. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of her."

He nodded, and a silence fell between them. Lalna entertained himself by caressing Rythian's neck with his fingertips and feeling the resultant shivers run through him.

"Lalna?"

"Mm-hm?"

"I . . . need to sleep in a room by myself."

"Aw, seriously? Where's the fun in that?"

"It's not about fun. I just—need that."

"Well, all right. For now. I'm shocked you're planning on sleeping at all. You almost never do."

"I . . . haven't. In a few days. It's time."

"Let me guess: sleep isn't real where you're from?"

Rythian went still. "You're not wrong."

Lalna kissed his temple, his cheek, the cloth over his lips. "Whatever you need, Ryth. I'm not in a hurry."

* * *

 

He woke to the sound of screaming.

_"Ryth!"_

The door nearly shattered when he slammed it open, bashing against the stone wall. He sprinted up the stairs, tripping six times, numb to the pain of crashing down on his elbows and knees. The screaming was still going, pain and horror and helplessness, and fear set Lalna's heart to pounding.

He flung Rythian's door open and bolted inside. Rythian was thrashing on the bed, hands clenched white-knuckled on the sheets, bright violet light spilling through his eyelids and flashing around the room as he struggled. Lalna nearly fell on top of him in his mad scramble to get his hands onto Rythian's shoulders, to shake him awake, because that scream was curdling his blood, was flooding him with a helpless panic that made him feel he was about to come unseamed.

"Fuck's sake, _wake up!"_ Lalna begged, on the verge of slapping him.

Rythian gasped himself awake and clawed at Lalna's nightshirt, hauling himself upright, white showing all the way around his eyes. Lalna clasped him close, felt the tremors racing through his body as though he would shake himself to pieces.

"I've got you," he promised, pressing his face to Rythian's neck. "I'm here, I've got you."

Rythian sobbed, hardly breathing for it. His hands were still fisted in Lalna's shirt, and Lalna could feel stinging scratches where fingernails had raked his skin.

"Shh," Lalna murmured, stroking Rythian's hair. "It's over. It was only a dream. You're all right. You're all right, Ryth."

Sobs racked his frail, trembling body for well over five minutes unabated, but finally, he started to regain his breath, and Lalna's heart was able to stop pounding quite so hard.

"Hey, see, there you are," Lalna said. He shifted his hands to Rythian's shoulders, intending to get a look at him.

Rythian jerked hard on his shirt, and there was raw panic in his voice when he begged, "No, please—please, don't go. I—I need . . . someone. Please, stay. I can't be alone. . . ."

Lalna folded him back in his arms and squeezed, kissing his neck. Rythian shivered. His hands trembled against Lalna's torso, and his breathing was sharp and ragged.

"Of course I'll stay," Lalna assured him. "You've already gone and woken me up, and believe me, 's not the kind of waking-up I ever want to have again. I'll stay as long as you need me."

Another choked sob escaped Rythian's lips. "I'm sorry—"

"Shh, no, it's all right. Good thing I stayed, isn't it?"

More shivers rolled through him. "Thank you. I'm—I'm glad you were . . . here. I just need—need you to hold me for . . . for a little while."

"I'll stay as long as you need me to," Lalna said again. "As long as you want."

"Thank you," he croaked. Lalna went back to petting his hair.

They remained like that for uncounted minutes, while Rythian's trembling tapered off and Lalna pressed kisses to whatever skin he could reach.

When Rythian had finally stilled, Lalna asked, "What was it?"

The shivers made a resurgence, and Lalna had to kiss them quiet again, rocking Rythian like a frightened child.

"It's the same, every time," Rythian muttered. "So many eyes, all watching—so many that it hurts—and my arm—I can't feel my arm—" He broke off, choking on his own words.

"'S just a nightmare, Ryth," Lalna assured him. "Can't hurt you."

"I didn't want to _go,"_ he moaned, his voice thick with tears. "But it was too late, and I couldn't—and they _pushed_ me—and it hurt, oh _God,_ it _hurt. . . ."_

"Ryth," he interrupted. "Hey, it's over. You're here now. You're with me. You're safe. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, all right?"

After a long pause, Rythian nodded.

"I'm gonna stay here with you for the rest of the night. You can go back to sleep. I'll be here."

"Promise?" he whispered.

"Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

He shuddered and shook his head. "Don't say that."

"All right, cross my heart and hope to live."

Rythian nodded, then nestled his head against Lalna's shoulder. It wasn't long before his breathing had gone slow and steady and his body relaxed into dead weight. As though he were made of glass, Lalna laid him back down in the bed and pulled the covers up over him. He leaned over and kissed his forehead, then paused, thumbing the edge of Rythian's mask.

"My little monster," he murmured.

He stood and stretched out the kinks in his back, sore all over. At a noise behind him, he whipped around, though his muscles were jellied with the aftermath of adrenaline. Standing in the doorway, tiny tail puffed out to twice its size, was the tabby kitten, blue eyes wide and ears pricked forward.

"Aw, you're a little guard-dog, aren't you," Lalna said, walking over and scooping up the cat. "C'mon, we'll keep him company."

He brought the cat to the bed and placed it next to Rythian's shoulder; it promptly climbed onto his chest and settled down over its own legs, purring.

"Good plan," Lalna commented. Moving slowly, so as not to jostle the bed or the sleeper upon it, he slipped under the covers and draped an arm over Rythian's stomach, curling up next to him and nestling his face against his neck.

"I've got you," he murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The freezer burns from the Blizz powder were not getting any easier to handle with repeated exposure. If anything, the more he worked with the stuff, the more burns he accrued, and the more uncomfortable and frustrating his life became.

Most of the staff had gone home for the night, but Testificate M. D. was still around to patch up his latest wound, giving him a mild topical anesthetic and a bandage, which, Lalna argued, he could have done himself.

"I don't know what else you want," the doctor said in his grating, nasal voice.

"The amount of money we pour into your pockets, you'd think you could come up with something better than basic first-aid."

"You don't need better than basic first-aid."

"What I _need_ is for these goddamn burns to go away. Do you have any _idea_ how much this hurts?"

"Badly, I imagine. I can give you something for the pain."

"Forget it," he sighed, heaving himself off the plastic chair. "Someday I'm gonna dunk your elbow in cryotheum, just because of this."

The testificate frowned and folded his arms into his sleeves. "That's uncalled-for."

"Yeah, thanks anyway," Lalna said, and stalked out.

He took a meandering route through the labs, making his way down, until he reached his secret room at the end of the B5 hallway. Casting a surreptitious glance down the hall, he unlocked the room and slipped in.

Something in the air had changed, and as he picked up his journal and a pen and headed to Tank 3, he tried to place it. It wasn't quite the same death-smell as there had been when he'd found Number Two floating dead in his tank, but there was a similar sharpness to it. More than that, the room had an air of being disturbed, of having subtly shifted in some way. There was a high-pitched whine just on the edge of hearing that seemed to be coming from nowhere. Lalna shook his head and dug a pinky into his ear, but the noise did not stop.

He reached Tank 3 and made a cursory examination. The clone was almost at full size, and was beginning to stretch itself out into the standing position they seemed to favor. Its face was still an amorphous expanse of flesh, without eyes or the cartilage bump of a nose, nor had its ears fleshed out yet. There were no nails on its fingers and toes, and only a short fuzz of hair was sprouting from its head.

Lalna noted all of this down, then turned to the keypad and punched in his code.

Behind him, there was a soft whirr, like the aperture of a camera widening. He spun on his heel and searched the wall, and there, hidden in the shadows up above—a single blinking green light.

 _"Shit!"_ Lalna spat. He dropped everything and sprinted for the door, wrenching it open and taking off down the deserted hall with his lab coat flapping behind him. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, his legs screaming in protest, his breath coming short and tasting of blood.

He hurtled through the labs, beelining for the front door—the only exit in the whole godforsaken building. He skidded to a halt in the foyer, arrested by a single slender figure standing between him and the exit.

Xephos inclined his head and smiled. His hands were clasped behind his back.

"Hello, Lalna," he greeted him. "Something wrong?"

"I—er, no, I was just—just—"

"On your way out, of course. It's late, I'm sure you'd like to get home."

"Er, yes. Yes, I definitely would like that." He gulped, scanning the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, winded.

"Well, I won't keep you, then. Oh, but I did want to ask: how _is_ Number Three?"

The anger that boiled up in him bypassed his brain and shot straight out his mouth.

"You've been reading my journals," he snarled, taking a step forward.

"Oh yes. Interesting material, although I think your style of documentation could use some refining. Not a single data table in sight, and you were awfully unprofessional about all of it."

"That's because they were _private."_

"Were they? Science is meant to be shared, I'm sure you know that better than I do. I really do dislike having secrets kept from me, Lalna. In my own facility, well. That's just adding insult to injury."

"You were _spying_ on me."

"I only wanted to be included. You're doing good work down there. Leaps and bounds ahead of our other scientists. It may surprise you to know this, Lalna, but I also have a vested interest in being made practically immortal."

Cautiously, he settled back onto his heels, allowing his fists to loosen. "You're not . . . angry?"

Xephos laughed. "Angry? Oh, God no. Frustrated, yes; disappointed, yes. But angry? Not in the least. I can't say I approve of your reasoning, but your progress has been undeniable."

"I'm trying to _help,_ Xeph."

"When I've said, more than once, that I don't want your help. God, I hope you don't treat Rythian like this."

"Leave him out of it!" Lalna snapped, his skin burning.

"For now," Xephos responded.

"For _ever,"_ he corrected. "If you touch him—"

Xephos held up a hand. "I know, I know. You'll see me in bits. But you have to admit that, if we're going to include him in the cloning program, we will have to know what his physiology actually _is."_

"I—that's not—that's not relevant."

"Isn't it? And here I was, thinking that's what you were working on." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

Something in him cracked, and he sagged. "I wanted—to _prove_ to you that this . . . this _obsession_ of yours, it's just not _plausible._ You and Israphel, you're not—you _can't_ be—the same person."

"Lalna," Xephos warned, "leave off."

"No, I won't. It's driving you mad."

Xephos's gaze flicked just over Lalna's shoulder. On instinct alone, he spun, narrowly dodging the testificate that had grabbed for his arm. He decked it square in the nose, but another snatched his opposite wrist. He kicked out, but there were six of them and they wrestled him to the ground and bound his hands and feet. He screamed and gnashed his teeth, thrashing, but to no avail.

A pair of scuffed black boots entered his field of vision, and he looked up at Xephos, who was regarding him with pity.

"I am sorry, Lalna. But it's for the best."

"What the hell are you _doing?"_ he demanded.

"Making sure Israphel never comes back," he answered, and turned to one of the testificates. "Take him down to surgery, room four, please. I'll be down shortly."

"Surgery?" Lalna cried, as the testificates hoisted him up and dragged him along by his arms. "What the hell are you planning? Xephos! _Xephos! What the hell are you gonna do to me?"_

Xephos did not so much as turn his head as he walked away. Lalna screamed after him, kicking uselessly at the polished floors, until long after he could no longer be heard.

And then he screamed for help, and then one of the testificates plunged a needle into his neck and his whole world gave way to colors and lights and a gentle, floating sensation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear: Lalna's behavior towards Rythian is emotional abuse. I do not condone this behavior in any way. He's a fucking asshole.


	5. Take Two

_Log 9_

_Lalna's journals paint an interesting picture, to say the least. So far there's been no need to activate the camera, but as I've nearly finished the most recent journal, it's probably time to start observing him in situ. I am mildly concerned that he'll notice the camera's presence once it's turned on, but he never has been the most observant person, and it's at such a high angle that he's unlikely to catch it out of the corner of his eye. Still, I admit to being nervous about the entire affair, since I have no idea what he'll do if he  does catch on to my surveillance. Recent events have made it clear that he becomes physically aggressive when provoked, so I've set up an on-call security team to respond at a moment's notice. _

_Honeydew's condition has continued to improve, with reduced lapses in memory and attention and only rare bouts of confusion. I have noticed, however, that he tends to respond with disproportionate emotions to situations reminiscent of those I removed from his memory. For example: two days ago, we were having a perfectly pleasant conversation, right up until I brought up the clone program. He grew agitated and fearful, but didn't seem to understand why he had done so. Perhaps there is a sort of emotional memory, separate from the analytical memory I've been working with. It's yet unclear whether a strong enough emotional stimulus could trigger analytical recall, but it certainly warrants investigation._

_There has been no further contact from Rythian. I suspect he's getting wise to what I'm doing here, although I'm not sure what tipped him off. Hopefully, he's in the dark enough to not attempt any countermeasures, and will stay that way until I can finish the job._

_End Log 9_

* * *

 

They must have sedated Lalna, for he was lying on the gurney unmoving, his eyes unfocused and his breathing slow. Xephos took the liberty of checking the restraints before turning his back on the man.

"Lalna?" he asked, scrubbing his hands vigorously. "Can you hear me?"

Lalna made a low moaning noise.

"I'll take that as a yes. Good! Well. Unfortunately you do have to be conscious and lucid in order for this to work, so we may be here for a while."

"No," Lalna slurred, rolling his head back and forth on the gurney.

Xephos's stomach twisted and he had to catch himself on the edge of the sink. Honeydew had fought, too, at first; had begged and pleaded and thrashed, called him all manner of foul names and vicious epithets, had cried. He fought down the nausea and focused on prepping, snapping a pair of latex gloves on.

"Now, the sedative they gave you metabolizes quickly, so it should wear off in a few minutes, and then we can get to work."

"Nnnh," said Lalna, giving a weak and clumsy tug at the restraint around his left wrist.

"Oh, don't be a baby. Won't hurt a bit." He leaned one hip against the counter. "You can expect some confusion and irritability afterwards, and you may experience occasional blackouts or periods of dissociation. Haven't _quite_ worked that fluke out of the system, but it hasn't been a problem so far."

"Whh . . . do t'me. . . ?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, the procedure. You won't remember afterwards, of course, but I may as well explain it to you, since there's not much else to do."

He crossed to the gurney and brushed the fringe out of Lalna's eyes. They were still unfocused, the pupils blown wide, but were regaining a modicum of clarity—and with it came fear. Xephos's stomach wrenched again with the familiarity of that expression, and he continued to stroke Lalna's hair, the most comforting gesture he could manage.

"It won't hurt," he promised. "I'll be putting a sort of electrode-cap on you, and another two electrodes will go on your chest, to monitor your heart. Not that anything will go wrong with your heart, but I do like to take precautions, just in case."

"I . . . don't want. . . ."

"I know." He gestured with his free hand to the bank of computers lining one wall. "Next, I'll hook you up to those, and we'll get started on the lengthy process of downloading your long-term memory. That'll take several hours, but it's not as though you have anywhere to be. Then it's up to me to sniff out the bits I intend to delete—for lack of a better word—and then it's back to the computer to map out where precisely in your brain the memories are located."

He paused, then laid his hand on Lalna's forehead.

"For the last bit, you'll be sedated, since I'll be running about an amp of current through your head to induce a seizure. If all goes well, only the problematic bits of your brain will get fried, and in a few hours you'll regain consciousness and go merrily on your way."

"You're mad," Lalna mumbled. He tried to lift his head, but Xephos pressed him down. Lalna was flexing his fingers, and his breathing was accelerating.

"Starting to wear off, is it? I'll get the electrodes." He turned and strode to the rolling cart against the wall, then wheeled it back over to Lalna. Smearing conductive gel on the electrodes inside of a brown latex cap, he continued, "This will be much easier for the both of us if you don't struggle."

"Fuck you," he spat, giving a cursory jerk at his restraints.

Xephos wriggled the cap onto Lalna's head and pressed the electrodes down, ensuring solid adhesion before moving on. He parted Lalna's lab coat and clicked his teeth.

"I'm afraid you're going to lose this shirt. Very little I can do but cut it off."

"Don't _touch_ me," said Lalna. He was still slurring noticeably, but his eyes were bright and the color was returning to his face. He jerked at his restraints again, harder.

"Rather late for that, I'm afraid," he said, plucking up a pair of safety scissors from the cart. "But I'll avoid it as much as possible from here on out."

Lalna bucked hard when Xephos bent to snip the hem of his shirt, nearly making him stab himself in the eye with the curved scissors.

"Lalna," he warned, "hold still."

"Go to hell," he snapped, shaking the gurney with his continued efforts to get free.

"Been there, didn't enjoy it," Xephos said. With a few swift snips, he'd cut Lalna's shirt from hem to collar. He folded it away, exposing the pale skin beneath. Lalna was well-insulated, but as he struggled it was obvious that the vast majority of his bulk was muscle.

"Why are you _doing_ this?" he demanded, lunging at Xephos as though he would bite his hand.

Xephos pressed two more electrodes to the heaving chest, while Lalna fought to get at him.

"I can't risk the possibility of Israphel returning, in any form. I'm taking precautions to ensure that it never happens."

"Israphel's not dead," Lalna snarled. "He's standing _right in front of me!"_

Xephos struck him. It was a backhanded blow right to the jaw, and it snapped Lalna's head to the side and bashed it into the gurney. Xephos stared at his hand as though it were a stranger's, while blood began to ooze from Lalna's lip and ear.

There was a cold rage swollen in his chest, threatening to burst out of him—he could still feel it tingling down the length of his arm. He felt _powerful,_ like a lightning storm in a porcelain doll, and oh, how he wanted to _smash_ himself and rain down ruin upon all who stood in his way.

The feeling faded, shrinking until it vanished in an icy swirl, and he was simply a tall man with stinging knuckles who had just struck his helpless friend.

"I'm sorry," he said, through numb lips.

"You think you can save yourself," Lalna said, his voice thick with disgust. "That's all you bloody care about, isn't it. _Look_ at yourself, you're _already_ a monster."

"I'm doing what has to be done," Xephos replied through gritted teeth.

"You did this to Honeydew, didn't you." Lalna's split lip was curling, revealing bloodied teeth. "You sicken me."

"I didn't have a choice."

"He was your _friend."_

"He still is!" Xephos's voice squeaked, and he forced himself back under control. "Lalna, I don't expect you to understand."

"Good, 'cause I don't."

"I'm doing this to protect everyone. In time, I'll even do it to myself. Some things are best forgotten."

"You're doing this because you've lost your fucking mind," Lalna snapped. He suddenly went pale, and then snarled with renewed vigor, "You won't _touch_ Rythian."

"I'm afraid I'll have to," he sighed. "Although I admit that I'll need your help."

"My _help?_ You really _have_ lost your mind."

"I could, conceivably, remove every last memory you have of him," Xephos said, watching Lalna from the corner of his eye.

If Lalna had been pale before, he went positively white at that remark.

"If you go after him," he growled, "he will turn you into a greasy stain on the wall."

"Lucky me, I won't have to go after him. He'll walk in the front door and sign his name in the guest book."

Lalna frowned, and then his face collapsed into a picture of pain and he sagged back on the gurney.

"Because he'll come looking for me," he breathed, his voice strained.

"I knew you were a genius," Xephos remarked. "Time to start the upload. This might feel a bit odd."

He flipped the switch, and Lalna twitched. He began to writhe, slowly, as though covered in ants that had not decided to start biting yet. His breath came short and shallow, hitching in his throat while he titled his head back and arched his shoulders off the gurney. Xephos looked away and busied himself with the computers.

"I can't fucking take this," Lalna gasped, after only five minutes.

"Afraid you'll have to," Xephos said, keeping his eyes on the screen in front of him. "For at least another four hours."

 _"Kill me,"_ Lalna groaned.

"What exactly are you experiencing? I might be able to help."

"Go to hell," he spat again.

"Lalna, this level of stubbornness is really uncalled-for. I understand that you're not pleased with the situation—"

"I'm going to fucking _murder_ you."

"Yes, I thought you might. But really, I want to make this as comfortable for you as possible."

"Then take this fucking _thing_ off my head!"

Xephos rolled his eyes. "You really are being absolutely unmanageable."

"Good! You know what else is absolutely unmanageable? All this fucking _tingling!"_

"Tingling, hm? Localized, or all over?"

"This isn't a goddamn doctor's visit."

"Do you want me to help with the tingling or not?"

Lalna groaned again, and there was a creaking frustration to the noise that snapped the whole situation into focus.

"I think," he said, swiveling his chair around to face Lalna, "I'm beginning to understand your plight."

He was still writhing, sweating, his eyes squeezed shut. The rise and fall of his chest was deep and swift, pressing his ribs against his skin with each breath. His hands were clenching into fists and stretching to grab empty air, the veins in his arms swollen and distinct.

"What do you need, Lalna?" he asked, his voice low.

Lalna's heels were digging into the gurney, his teeth clenched on a low hiss.

"This is fucking _torture,"_ he moaned.

"It isn't meant to be. Tell me how to help you. I could bring a heavy blanket, that settled Honeydew down."

"I cannot _believe_ you did this to him."

"To be fair, he wasn't in the same state that you are." Which was, technically, true, but it still made Xephos feel sick. Honeydew had been crying. Honeydew had begged. Honeydew had said he _forgave_ him and it had ripped Xephos into little pieces.

"Then why the hell is it happening to _me?"_

"You're not a dwarf?" Xephos guessed. "Or, possibly, you have all the fortitude of a wet paper towel."

"Excuse _me_ for having unfulfilled needs," Lalna sneered, though his voice had a twinge of desperation.

Xephos's nose wrinkled. "I'll get you that blanket, shall I?"

"If you want to help, you don't have to leave."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't I?"

Lalna leered at him. "You have got hands, haven't you?"

"That's it," Xephos declared, throwing his hands in the air. "You're spending the rest of the transfer alone."

"Don't you _dare,"_ he threatened, but Xephos walked out without a backward glance and left him there.

* * *

 

Four hours later, when he returned to check in, Lalna was wrecked. He was drenched with sweat and had rubbed his wrists and ankles bloody against the restraints. He was shivering, and his skin was clammy.

Xephos slipped in and checked the computer. Lalna cracked an eye open and made a chuffing noise.

"Come to gloat?" he asked, his voice painfully hoarse.

Xephos glanced at him sidelong. "Don't tell me you were faking that whole time as a ploy to get me out of the room."

"And if I was?"

"Then you're a very sick man who has no sense of decency."

Lalna smirked. "Worked though, didn't it."

"You're a class-A liar all right," Xephos said. "I wonder if I couldn't cut that out of you."

"You're a class-A madman," Lalna retorted. "Maybe you could cut your own head off."

"It's astounding, really," he remarked, "just how quickly you've gone from wanting to help me to wanting to murder me."

And, he thought, gravely concerning, because what if Lalna exhibited the same emotional memory that Honeydew did? What if, at the end of all this, Lalna killed him in a flash of unreasoning hatred?

He shook himself and decided to worry about it later.

"It's amazing how fast _you_ went from sane to fucking _psychotic,"_ Lalna was saying.

"You know better than that," Xephos admonished. "Psychotic isn't synonymous with objectionable, and I'm perfectly well in touch with reality, thank you very much."

"Could've fooled the hell out of me."

"Do you _really_ have to argue with me every step of the way?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I should leave you alone and let you wear yourself out some more." He checked the computer. "On the other hand, the upload's done, so I suppose I'll have to stay while I root through your brain."

"Don't," Lalna warned, but there was that note of fear in his voice again, of desperation.

Xephos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know I _could_ sedate you now and spare myself several hours of headache."

"Do it, then," he spat. "Bloody coward."

"There's something to be said for cowards," Xephos remarked, sitting down in front of a large monitor that stood on a table against the wall. "They have a fabulous habit of _surviving."_

For several minutes, there was only the whirring of the computers and the ebb and flow of Lalna's breathing.

"This isn't the answer," he murmured at last.

Xephos did not turn his head, trawling through terabytes of memory from Lalna's brain.

"I want to _help_ you, Xeph. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong. If you take it from me. Think about it for two seconds. We can fix this."

"I _am_ fixing it," Xephos snapped.

"This isn't fixing anything. It's just sweeping it all under the rug."

"I'm working, Lalna, kindly shut up."

"You don't have to do this alone."

"I don't intend to do it at all. Shut _up."_

There was a razor edge to Lalna's voice when he said, "Some hero _you_ turned out to be."

Xephos stopped his scrolling, his eyes unfocused.

"I never asked to be a hero," he said. "I've always only done what I had to do to protect the people I cared about, and that's all I intend to continue doing."

"You aren't protecting anyone."

His fists clenched. "Maybe I've decided it's time to look out for _myself_ for once. I _cannot_ live with this, Lalna. You can't possibly understand what it's like, to know you're a—a monster."

There was a pause.

"Rythian does," Lalna said. "He seems to get on all right."

"That's not the _same."_

"Isn't it? You don't know him like I do."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Would you _please_ let me work?"

"Haven't you ever wondered what's under the mask?"

Xephos stopped again, staring through his computer screen.

"We'll discuss it," he decided, "after the procedure is done."

"Why discuss? I could show you. But not if I don't remember having this conversation. Let me keep my mind, and I'll hand you Rythian on a silver platter."

"It's a tempting offer," Xephos remarked, "except for the fact that I'm rooting about in your brain, and can make you hand him over anyway."

Lalna _screamed,_ and thrashed so hard that he threatened to overturn the gurney, never mind that it was bolted to the floor. Xephos shot to his feet and climbed halfway onto the table behind him before halting his panicked flight. Lalna was slamming his own head into the gurney over and over, frenzied in his attempts to escape. The wounds on his wrists tore open and spattered blood onto the floor.

Hands shaking, Xephos filled a syringe with surgical anesthetic. While he tapped the bubbles out, Lalna arched off the gurney and howled, his voice ragged, his teeth bared and bloody.

Xephos crossed to him. He had to slam his forearm down on Lalna's chest to hold him still enough to jab the needle into his shoulder and discharge its contents.

"It's _my_ mind!" Lalna snarled. His eyes were wild and filled with tears. "You can't take it! You _can't take it from me!"_

Xephos stood back and pulled his lab coat close around himself, casting the used syringe carelessly onto the table behind him.

Lalna struggled until his body gave out underneath him, and he passed into stillness, blood still oozing from his injuries.

Xephos sank into his chair and fought to catch his breath.

"Right," he muttered to himself, pushing the hair back off his sweating forehead. "Well, _that's_ going to be difficult to explain."

* * *

 

He knocked at the door of the castle, glancing over his shoulder at the idyllic village at the bottom of the hill. Rythian's living space was removed from the others, far enough that the noise of daily life was a distant and muffled hum.

The door opened, and Rythian poked his head out. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was tangled and stuck out at odd angles. He saw Xephos and froze, unblinking, his face bathed in the turquoise light of his eyes.

"Er, hi," said Xephos, clasping his hands behind his back.

"What have you done?" Rythian demanded. His voice was dark, the kind of sound that made primitive hunters put their backs to the fire and take up their spears.

"I—sorry?"

"What have you _done?"_ he repeated. If a voice could flash a glimpse of white fangs, Rythian's did.

"There's, er, there's been an accident. At YogLabs. Er, Lalna's not well."

Rythian stared at him in silence. Xephos got the impression that Rythian was imagining the flavor of his trachea. He forged ahead, after a slight cough to unclench his throat.

"So, er, he'll be staying at the medical facility there. He'll be fine," he hastened to add, "just needs a bit of more, ah, intensive care. Should only be a couple of days."

The silence rolling off of Rythian was palpable.

"Just thought I'd come and tell you. Wouldn't want you to worry. Er, I suppose I'll just be going, then—"

He had barely shifted his weight when Rythian's hand lashed out and caught him by the collar, and suddenly he was far too close to those blazing, unnatural eyes.

"In two days," Rythian said, each word sending a chill down Xephos's spine, "I will come for him. And if I do not find him, I will peel off your skin and _feed_ it to you, and then I will wipe you and your _prison_ off the face of this planet and smear your names out of history."

"Bit, er, dramatic," Xephos squeaked. His legs were twitching, his heart fluttering hummingbird-quick.

"Which will in no way stop me from doing it," he said.

"Ah. Right. Understood. See you in two days."

"Yes," said Rythian.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, and the door was slammed shut.

"Well," Xephos sighed, picking himself up and brushing himself off. "Two days. That's fine. I can work on a deadline." He pinched the bridge of his nose, walking away from the castle. "That's just _fine."_

 


	6. Overhead

_Dear Diary,_

_Something's happened to Lalna, something bad. He's in the medical bay, no idea how he got there, all bruised up and bloody and tired. I asked if I shouldn't go tell Rythian, bring him down here, because God knows he'll worry, but Xephos told me not to, that he'd already spoken to him and that talking to him might be dangerous._

_Dangerous how? I asked, but he wouldn't answer me._

_Lalna didn't want me to get him, either, which was the oddest part. I asked him why and he just said, 'don't, don't' over and over again, no explanation, no nothing._

_It's a good goddamn thing I'm a dwarf, otherwise I wouldn't be able to move for being kept in the dark._

_One thing Lalna did say I should do was go get the kitten from his house. Apparently Rythian couldn't take care of her so Lalna picked her up, but now of course she doesn't have anyone to take care of her because of-fucking-course I can't take her to Rythian, so I'm just going to bring her back to Nilesy and let him do his thing. _

_That tip-of-the-tongue thing keeps on happening, sometimes twice in a day, sometimes not for days on end, and I keep getting these weird feelings, like, feeling stuff and not knowing why. Xeph says I shouldn't worry about it, but god dammit, I am worried, and no amount of being told I shouldn't be is gonna fix that. I'm worried about Lalna, I'm worried about Rythian, and I am fucking  worried about Xephos because  some kind of shit is going on here and not a single god damn person will tell me what it  is.  _

_Fuck it. I'm asking Rythian, and all their 'don'ts' be damned._

* * *

 

There was something in the air surrounding the castle that made Honeydew's hair stand on end. He scratched at his beard and slowed his steps, half expecting static discharge to come sparking off of his iron boots. The air was still and too quiet, muggy, as though before a thunderstorm, though the sky was cloudless.

Nonetheless, Honeydew forged onward and rapped on Rythian's door, the sound sharp in the silence.

There was no response. He knocked again, then called, "Rythian? You in there?"

And still there was nothing. Honeydew's ears popped, and he stretched his jaw to work out the discomfort.

"Rythian?" he yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Shit's gotten weird, I need your help."

Splinters burst from the door, and a black axe blade split through the wood like it was cutting butter, only stopping because the haft could not fit through the breach. Honeydew scrambled back with a shriek.

There came a voice, low and dark and bristling with thorns.

"Stay home tomorrow."

"What?" said Honeydew. He frowned at the door, not daring to come any closer. "Rythian, is that you?"

More silence, and the air was getting thicker with each breath he took.

"Fuck this," Honeydew decided, and bolted back to town.

* * *

 

Nilesy looked like his pillow had attempted to eat his hair and made significant headway. He squinted at Honeydew, his face oddly bare without the dark lines of his glasses.

"Is that—?" he asked, gesturing to the squirming kitten in Honeydew's hands.

"Yeah," Honeydew answered. "Brought her from Lalna's. There was a, er, an accident, and Lalna's hurt, and Rythian's . . . not seeing anyone. I was hoping you could take care of her until things settle down."

Nilesy stretched out his hands and made grabby fingers. Honeydew placed the kitten into them and Nilesy tucked her up against his chest. He got a swift scratch across the chin for his trouble.

 _"Ow!"_ he cried, snatching the kitten by the scruff of the neck and holding her at arm's length. "No. We do _not_ do that."

"Er," Honeydew said, wringing his hands, "is it all right if I come in for a bit?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. Good luck finding a horizontal surface without cats on it, though." He stepped back into his quaint little house and Honeydew followed. There were cats absolutely _everywhere_ inside, most of them languishing and pretending with all their willpower that there were no other cats in the room.

Honeydew removed a calico from the couch and settled down, kicking his feet. Nilesy was inspecting the kitten and clicking his teeth.

"How long since anybody last fed you, hm? Is that why you're so grumpy? Come on, then, let's get something in you, you little tart."

He waited while Nilesy tended to the cat. The calico came back around and laid claim to Honeydew's lap. Nilesy returned presently and set the tabby kitten down at his feet. She loped off on what seemed to be urgent business. Nilesy settled in between a matched pair of black and white cats and looked up at Honeydew.

"So," he said, "something's wrong."

"Er? Well, I mean, yeah, Lalna's in hospital, something's _clearly_ wrong."

"Oh, well, yes, that too," Nilesy conceded. "I meant between Rythian and Lalna."

"Eh?"

"Well, why else would our little princess have been at Lalna's house and not Rythian's?"

"Um," Honeydew hazarded, "visiting?"

Nilesy raised an eyebrow. "Really? You saw him with her. You couldn't've pulled that cat off him with a crowbar."

"I . . . guess," said Honeydew. "Look, that really isn't any of my business, right? It's not anybody's business but theirs. I mostly just wanted to hand the cat over to you before she like, starved or something."

"I do appreciate that. I'm sure Rythian will, too."

"I mostly just. . . ." He broke off, then hung his head and scratched his beard. "Something's wrong with me, and I don't know what it is, and everyone who might be able to help is either laid up in bed or has lost their god damn mind."

"I'm sorry," Nilesy said, frowning. "Anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head. "Prob'ly not, honestly. Something's got knocked loose in my head, I think, so unless you're secretly a shrink, I'm not sure there's much can be done."

"Ah. Well, if you ever need a therapeutic cat, you know where to come."

Honeydew snorted, and gave the calico in his lap a scratch behind the ears. It glared at him, disgusted, and leapt down to the floor to saunter away. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I should probably be going."

"Sure you don't want tea while you're here?"

His stomach grumbled, and he patted it. "Well, yeah, I s'pose I could go for a bit of tea."

"Good," Nilesy declared. "There's scones in the kitchen where the cats won't get them, feel free to help yourself. And just for the record, if you've dragged me into any of this drama going on, I'll sick the cats on you."

"Drama? What?"

He shook his head and pushed the kettle over the fire. "Honestly," he sighed, and rolled his eyes.

Honeydew frowned and scratched his beard, but eventually he asked, "Y'know, it occurs to me, I don't actually know what you do for a living."

"Me?" said Nilesy, as though there was anyone else in the room. "I am the best and greatest number-one importer-exporter of pools and pool-accessories."

"Uh-huh?" said Honeydew. Nilesy sagged and made to push up the glasses that weren't on his nose.

"I . . ." he said, and sighed. "I dig pools."

"You _dig_ pools?" Honeydew said, leaning forward.

"Oh yes. Excessively labor-intensive, but I tell you what, it pays well." He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Mostly because nobody else wants to do it, but oh well. Hold on, I've got to go get my glasses. Ol' speccy-specs."

"Right," said Honeydew. Nilesy flitted out. Moments later, the kettle started whistling, and only seconds after that, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh God _dammit,"_ he cursed from the other room, and jogged back in, his glasses askew on his nose. "Honeydew, would you get the door for me?"

"Yeah, right, of course," he said, hopping to his feet. The kettle whistled itself out behind him, and he opened the door.

There was a tall blonde on the doorstep, a misshapen hat stuffed down over her ears. She looked down at Honeydew with some surprise.

"Oh," she said, her voice a resonant alto. "Er, is the pool boy here?"

Nilesy poked his head out, asking, "Who is it?"

For a moment, the air went still, and Honeydew could _feel_ the two of them staring at each other over his head. He heard Nilesy stumble over himself, and watched a soft flush come to the woman's cheeks.

"Hi," she squeaked. Her hands gave a feeble twitch, as though trying to cover her mouth.

"Hello," Nilesy replied, something of awe in his voice. "Can I . . . help you? Er. . . ."

She gaped for a moment, then caught on, and hastened to say, "Lomadia. My name's Lomadia."

Honeydew stood aside, in case some of the weird, spellbound energy fell on his head.

Nilesy grinned like a summer sunrise. "Hallo, Lomadia," he said. "I'm Nilesy."

"Hi Nilesy," she replied.

They stared for a moment more before Nilesy shook himself and looked at his shoes, rubbing the back of his head.

"Er, so, what can I help you with, Lomadia?"

"I—oh, just, I heard you were the person to go to if you needed a pool."

Again that grin, so bright and infectious that Honeydew found himself smiling along.

"That's me," Nilesy declared. He attempted a saunter towards the door, and managed a tipsy stroll. He leaned an elbow on the doorframe and gazed up at her. "You wouldn't happen to need a pool, would you?"

"Well, I'd _like_ one," she hedged, "but I don't know if I can pay you. I'm not exactly rolling in diamonds at the moment."

He waved a hand and shook his head. "One diamond _or_ friendship, those are my prices, and I won't budge."

She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled.

"In that case, I'd be happy to buy."

"Oh, why don't you just get _married_ already," Honeydew grumbled, and stumped off to devour all of Nilesy's scones.

* * *

 

"Oy," Honeydew said, poking his head into Xephos's office. "Something's wrong with Rythian."

Xephos looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth slack.

"Jesus Christ, you didn't go after him, did you?"

"What? Well, I mean, I went to, y'know, just talk to him."

Xephos hurried around his desk and to the door, taking Honeydew's shoulders in his hands and crouching down to look him in the eye.

"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? I swear to God, if he's hurt you—"

"I—no, he hasn't _hurt_ me, why would you even _ask_ that?"

"You saw what he did to Lalna!" Xephos exclaimed.

Honeydew gaped at him.

"No he didn't," he said.

"I found him in the castle basement, tied up and beaten—"

"No you fucking _didn't,"_ Honeydew snapped. "Rythian wouldn't _do_ that."

"He did." Xephos frowned. "Or, whatever's gotten into his head would."

"The hell d'you mean by that?"

"You remember, back when we first met him, when he used to have those queer spells?"

"Yeah, but those stopped after Israphel died." A cold shiver ran through him at the name, and his skin crawled where Xephos touched him. Delicately, he extracted himself from his friend's hands.

"For a while, yes," Xephos admitted, straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back. "But if one thing could get into his head, why not another? And whatever this is, it's _nasty."_

"And you think it made him beat the shit out of Lalna."

"Evidence would seem to suggest it."

Honeydew frowned and folded his arms. "What were you doin' at the castle anyway?"

"Looking for Lalna! He didn't show up for work yesterday, and I got worried, so I went looking. He wasn't at his house, or the Captive Creeper, so I went to see if he was with Rythian." He shivered. "I don't like to think what would've happened to me if he had been. If Rythian had been there."

"Lalna was _definitely_ here yesterday," Honeydew declared. "I saw him."

"No, he wasn't, and you didn't. You must be thinking of a different day. Ask him yourself, if you don't believe me, which I don't see why you wouldn't."

Honeydew glared at him. Something in his heart was aching—the sting and numbness of betrayal, an anger with no cause, an old fear rising up blind from the darkest corners of his consciousness.

"Because I don't fucking _trust_ you," he blurted, then recoiled from his own words.

Xephos gaped, and Honeydew could almost see the blood welling from the wound he'd just struck.

"I didn't mean—"

Xephos turned his back on him. "I've got work to do, Honeydew," he said, cold and detached. "If you would kindly amuse yourself elsewhere."

"I . . ." he said, "I'm sorry, Xeph, I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did," Xephos said, and crossed back to his desk. He seated himself without so much as glancing at Honeydew, picked up a pen, and bent over his paperwork.

Honeydew stared at him, hoping for some kind of reaction, for something to break or sag or topple and for Xephos to look at him.

The pen scratched on paper. Honeydew sighed, hanging his head, and walked out of the office.

* * *

 

Lalna was a mess—there was no other way to put it. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a perpetually dizzied expression. Both of his wrists were a mass of scabs, his lip was split, and there was a dark bruise on his left cheek.

He raised an eyebrow at Honeydew when he walked in, and approximated a smile.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he croaked. His voice was as wrecked as the rest of him.

"Thought I'd come and have a laugh at you, while you can't fight back," Honeydew said, settling into the bedside chair.

Lalna snorted. "That's all you know. I'm in top fighting condition."

"Just biding your time, are you?"

"Oh yes." His eyes went unfocused, and his lips parted. After a moment, he frowned and blinked at the room around him. "What was I. . . ?"

"Just havin' a friendly visit," Honeydew said, though something cold was clutching around his heart. "You're all laid up in hospital, you silly bugger."

Lalna stared at the ceiling, frowning. When no response was forthcoming, Honeydew continued.

"D'you remember what happened?" he asked.

"I—" said Lalna, and bit his lip, his brows meeting over his nose. "I was tied down. For a long time, hours maybe. Somebody was there—hit me right in the face. . . ." His tone changed, dripping with disdain. "I knew them. I _know_ I knew them."

Honeydew scratched his beard, then said, "Xephos says it was Rythian."

Lalna's fists clenched on the bedsheets. "Oh, I _know_ what _Xephos_ has to say about it," he spat. He blinked again and frowned, looking down at his clenched fists. "I'm sorry, I . . . I don't know why I said that."

"Er, right. But you don't think—I mean you don't _really_ think Rythian did this?"

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Honestly? I don't know _what_ to think. I mean, Rythian's always been a bit odd, and he does get sort of . . . _dark,_ sometimes, but he's never _hurt_ me."

"I went to see him," Honeydew mentioned.

Lalna half sat up before wincing in pain and falling back. His eyes were wide and bright, if still unfocused.

"You did? Is he all right?"

"Er," said Honeydew, fiddling with the tip of his beard, "no. He uh, he threw an axe at me. I think."

Lalna paled even further. "So . . . so you think he—?"

"No," Honeydew stated. "I don't. I don't _honestly_ think he did this." He frowned down at his hands, clasped in his lap. "But if Xephos is right, and something's got into his head. . . . I dunno."

"Dunno—what, sorry? I sort of . . . zoned out for a second there."

Honeydew pursed his lips. "I was saying how Xephos thinks something nasty's got into Rythian's head, and _that's_ what fucked you up."

"Oh," said Lalna. "I hadn't thought of that." He chewed his lip. "Xephos did say he thinks Rythian'll come back for me. If it was Rythian. And I mean, he's probably right, I've _never_ seen anyone hold a grudge like Ryth does, but . . . Honeydew, he wants me to help _trap_ him."

His face was lined with pain, his hands clenching the sheets again.

"Well, I mean, that might be for the best? 'Cause if it wasn't him, we can just let him go, and if something's in his head, we can get it out, and if it _was_ him. . . ."

Lalna shook his head. "You don't understand. I _promised_ I would never let them experiment on him. I swore on my life." He looked like he was going to be sick. "He'd never trust me again."

"Better that than getting the shit beat out of you again," Honeydew said. Lalna glared at him.

"I don't expect you to understand."

"Why? You think I haven't ever been in love?"

Lalna pulled up short and gaped for a moment. "I er, honestly I hadn't ever thought about it." His nose wrinkled. "Wasn't there something about you and some old granny—"

Honeydew took his helmet off and held it over his heart. "Granny Bacon, bless her soul. She gave me cake." His tone went sly. "And other things."

"I do _not_ want to hear about it."

He grinned and put his helmet back on, but couldn't keep up the expression.

"And, y'know," he said, and cleared his throat. "Xeph."

"Oh," Lalna remarked. "I um. Well, that's. . . ."

"A bit shit?"

"I was going to say _unsurprising,_ but all right."

Honeydew shook his head. "He don't love people. Not like that, anyways."

There was a space of quiet, measured out by the beeping of Lalna's heart monitor.

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

"You get used to it," Honeydew sighed, and heaved himself to his feet. "I'll be off, I think. Get well soon, shitlord."

Lalna snorted. "Get lost," he said, and Honeydew took his leave.

 


	7. Pandora's Box

_Research Journal 12_

 

_Day 266_

_Unsurprisingly, Number Three went the way of Number Two while I was in the medical bay, since nobody was there to hear the damn alarm go off, if it went off at all. It should have, but there's no telling._

_Xephos has been extremelly helpful in getting things back on track, going so far as to start up Numbers Four and Five and keep an eye on them while I'm still recovering—both are getting the updated brain matrix information, since the old file got corrupted. Four is going in the standard redstone-infused culture. Five is a 'dry-run' where we'll drain the fluid once all physical structures are in place and let nuerology develop under open air. Will reduce the likelihood of drowning, but might produce a vegetable._

_Containment testing has been going fenominally. The foundations for the device were already laid out, because somebody up on B2 has been working on it for a few months. Working on such a strict deadline hasn't been easy, but it's ready if it's needed. We managed to trap an enderman in it indefinitely—it only got out because we let it out. Experiments with testificates have shown that the field is permeable by gases, so no one will suffocate in there, although sending in food and water could prove difficult. Hopefully not necessary. _

_Much as I dislike the project, I have to admit that it's useful, and not just for the emergency-preparedness thing Xephos has going on. The implications are huge—with a large enough power source, almost anything could be protected and/or contained. Finding anything that an enderman can't get through is impressive enough on its own, and the fact that nothing bigger than an air molecule can get through it either is a big plus._

_Let it be noted here that I object to this anyway, and that I think we're all going to die._

* * *

 

His eyes were burning from staring at the monitor for so long.

"How do you even know he's coming?" Lalna asked.

Xephos sighed, rubbing his eyes and leaning back from his own vigil at a different monitor.

"Call it an intuition," he said. "Even a day's worth of space was probably too much to hope for. Considering what we're dealing with."

 _"Who,"_ Lalna corrected under his breath. He jerked in his seat when a figure appeared on the monitor—tall, dark, stick-thin, drifting in through the front door of the lab with a scarf trailing out behind him.

"He's here," he blurted. "Xeph, he's here."

Xephos rolled his chair over to Lalna and hunched closer to the monitor.

"That's him, all right," he confirmed. "What'd I tell you?"

Squinting, Lalna asked, "What's he doing?"

The figure was bent over the front desk, scribbling at something thereon.

"I believe," Xephos answered, "he's signing the guest book."

Lalna looked over at him. "Really?"

"What else would he be doing?"

"I kind of expected, y'know, fire raining down from on high. Not a _guest book."_

Xephos shrugged. "Who knows what's going on in his head. He's heading off, get ready."

The dark figure traversed through the view of several cameras, striding down a long hallway. His head turned side to side, predatory and searching. When he descended the stairs, he floated above them, his fingertips trailing over the railing.

"He's not gonna fall for it," Lalna muttered. His hands were sweating, his heart thumping in his ears.

"He doesn't have to," Xephos assured him. "There won't be time."

He exited the stairs on the lowest level of the building. His brisk pace had slowed to a cautious creep, like a cat in unfamiliar surroundings.

"He's not falling for it, Xeph," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Give it a minute."

Padding down the hall, Rythian passed so close under one of the cameras that Lalna could see the look on his face, one of fear and staunch determination, and his stomach wrenched.

"This isn't right," he murmured.

"Eyes on, Lalna," Xephos said. "Almost there."

Lalna put one sweating hand on the little switch next to the monitor.

Rythian reached the last room on the left and pushed the door open. Lalna heard the creak of the hinges just across the hall, and his heart hammered against his ribs.

"Now," Xephos murmured.

Lalna flipped the switch.

There was an electric hum, and blue light spilled through the window across the hall.

And then there was the scream.

It rattled Lalna's teeth and drove nails into his ears, and he flung up his hands to block it out. It was inhuman, howling with echoes of _other_ and _else,_ and if raw fury had a sound, that was it. The scream went on and on and on, far past what human lungs could support, and Lalna found himself crouching under the desk and shaking.

Xephos put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him, though he himself was pale and wide-eyed.

"Shrink the field," he instructed. Lalna was astounded he could hear him over the horrible noise, that Xephos wasn't even raising his voice.

"We can't keep him in there," he replied, horrified.

"If we let him out, we will very quickly become a _crater,"_ Xephos said. "Shrink the field, Lalna, and we'll go in and talk to him."

Lalna recoiled. "Like hell I'm going in there."

"Then what, exactly, do you think we should do?"

Finally, the scream tapered off. There was a moment of silence, and then a concussion that shook the building. Xephos's head snapped up, and he gulped.

"You're _sure_ that thing will hold him?" he asked.

"Er," said Lalna, "pretty sure. Like, ninety-five percent sure."

"Oh, fantastic. That stops _my_ worrying, all right. And I ask again: what do you propose we do?"

Lalna sighed and uncurled himself from under the desk. "Leave him alone," he said. "Let him wear himself out, God knows he's going to." He paused. "Eventually."

"Would you shrink the field now, please?"

"Right," said Lalna, casting about himself in some confusion. His head was spinning, and the echoes of that scream still rang in his ears. He keyed in a few commands and then stood staring at his hands, clenching his teeth.

There was a thunderous crash and the sound of shattering stone from across the hall. Evidently the field was not protecting the floor.

Xephos regarded him for a long moment. "Do you believe me now?" he asked.

Pursing his lips, Lalna refused to look at him. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure he wouldn't've done that anyway. He's _scared,_ Xeph."

"He doesn't _sound_ scared," Xephos pointed out. "He sounds _furious."_

"Yeah, well," said Lalna, and shrugged. There was another concussion from across the hall, and he jumped. "Christ. Let's get out of here, my heart can't take this."

"I really think we should keep an eye on him," Xephos said.

He raised an eyebrow. "You said it yourself: if he gets out, we'll be a crater. And there's nothing we can do about it, because I somehow doubt he's going to wait around for an explanation."

Rythian screamed again, and there was a frantic series of blows, each one shivering dust from the ceiling.

Xephos cleared his throat. "Well. In that case, I think you're right. Besides, I'm not _entirely_ confident that he's not going to bring the building down on us anyway."

"You just _had_ to say that, didn't you."

"I live to instill confidence in my employees."

* * *

 

Twenty-six hours later, the raging thunderstorm in the basement finally blew itself out. Xephos and Lalna crept down to the eighth and bottommost level together, eyes peeled and ears pricked for any sign of trouble. There was silence, until they grew close enough to hear the hum of the forcefield generator.

Lalna reached out to open the door, and Xephos caught his elbow.

"Lalna," he said, low and serious. "Whatever he says to you, whatever he does to himself, _promise_ me you will not let him out."

He nodded, swallowing. "Unless he's himself again."

Xephos's hand tightened, fingernails digging in. "Under _no_ circumstances," he insisted. "He will tell you _anything_ to get you to let him out. And you _can't,_ because he'll kill us."

His eyes narrowed. "How d'you know that?"

"I saw what he did to you," Xephos answered, his posture stiff. "And you and me both saw the tantrum he was throwing all day and night. He hasn't gotten better just by being left alone, Lalna. He's still just as sick as he ever was."

It was difficult to breathe, and Xephos's hand burned on his elbow.

"Let me talk to him alone," he said.

Xephos recoiled. "Absolutely not. I'm not letting you go in there by yourself."

"Xephos, please. He's . . . he's _Rythian,_ for Christ's sake. Just let me talk to him. Just me."

Xephos searched his face for a long moment, then nodded and let go of his elbow.

"I'll be right outside. If you need help, just yell."

"Right," said Lalna, and pushed the door open.

The room was filled with purple smoke that burned his lungs and eyes and made him sick to his stomach. A glowing blue cube sat in the center of the floor, its energies drawing swirls into the fog.

Standing in the exact center of the cube, eyes blazing like twin stars, was Rythian.

Lalna froze in place. There was something about the unwavering attention that made his insides curl up. He could _taste_ the rage in the air.

"Rythian?" he croaked.

Rythian did not so much as blink. He didn't even look like he was breathing.

"Ryth, it's . . . it's me. It's Lalna." He took a few hesitant steps towards the forcefield. "Are you . . . all right?"

He was so silent and still that he seemed to be dragging down time around him, freezing the swirling smoke in place and muffling the hum of the forcefield.

"I didn't want to do this, Ryth," he said. "But I was scared. After what happened to me—" He stopped, biting his lip. "After . . . what _you_ did to me." He walked to the forcefield, stopping just short of putting his hand against it. Rythian's gaze was boring holes in his skull.

"I want to help," Lalna said—pleaded. "Rythian, please understand, I'm not angry, this isn't some kind of—of punishment, I'm just _scared._ For you. And I'm trying to do what's best for you."

"You _swore,"_ Rythian accused. The sound clawed at Lalna's hindbrain and sent aftershocks through the floor. He took an involuntary step back.

"Things've changed, Ryth," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just trying to help."

"Let. Me. Out." The sound of an oncoming freight train would have been gentler and more comforting.

"So you can turn this place into a crater? I think not." He softened, and put a hand against the field. It buzzed under his skin, tingling. "I don't know what's got into your head, Ryth, but I promise you, I'm going to get it out."

"You _promise_ me?" Rythian inquired, his head tipping to one side, birdlike. He placed his words as though they could sew Lalna's feet to the floor.

"Yes. Yes, Ryth, I do. I'm going to fix this."

"You. _Promise_ me," he said again. The cube was shivering with more than its own vibration.

"I—I do. I promise."

_"Liar."_

The word struck all conscious thought from his mind and stilled his heart. He stood, frozen, his instincts telling him to run and his legs unable to comply.

"What . . . _are_ you?" he croaked, lips numb.

Rythian moved so fast that Lalna didn't even see him do it—just suddenly there was a snarling, furious _thing_ pressed up against the field and scattering blue sparks with its fingernails. Lalna leapt back with a cry, lost his footing, and fell hard onto his rear. The door opened and Xephos dashed in, and Rythian _howled._

Lalna threw his hands over his ears, and Xephos grabbed him by the elbow, half-dragging him out. Ripples of force were shredding the air inside the cube, flashing into purple smoke as they rolled away.

Even with the door shut, the sound still rang in his head, unabated. He found that he was sitting on the floor, and Xephos was crouched next to him with one hand on his shoulder. He was shaking so hard that he could barely breathe.

"So." Xephos was looking down at him with something approaching pity. "Do you believe me?"

He shivered and picked himself up, though his legs didn't want to support him; Xephos rose with him. His stomach twisted itself in knots, and his throat and eyes still burned from the purple smoke. With a deep, steadying breath, he turned to Xephos.

"What d'you need me to do?"

* * *

 

The alarm woke him less than two hours after he'd passed out in his office, and despite the exhaustion clouding his head, he ran to his lab down on B5 with all haste.

Something was slamming hard against the glass of Tank 4, and Lalna dashed to it. The clone inside was wild-eyed and frenzied, cracking its fist against the glass over and over. It was starting to go blue in the lips.

Lalna slapped the glass with the flat of his hand.

"Oy!" he shouted. "Quit! I'm gonna get you out, hang tight."

Number Four's mouth gaped in horror, and he stopped his frantic pounding long enough for some of the color to come back into his face. Lalna keyed in the code to drain the tank, and soon the green fluid had been slurped away, leaving Number Four curled on the floor of the tank, coughing up copious amounts of green ooze.

Lalna opened the tank and knelt down. Number Four ripped the electrodes off his head and tore the tubes from his arms, gasping for breath. His knuckles were bleeding.

"Hiya," said Lalna.

"What," Number Four panted, "the _hell_ . . . is going on?"

"From the looks of things," Lalna answered, "a successful cloning operation."

Number Four's head snapped up, and his face was lined with deep suspicion.

"I was wondering why you had my face," he said.

"Other way round."

He scowled. "Funny thought for a clone to have."

Lalna couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Tell me about it."

"Are there others?" Number Four asked, picking himself up. Lalna shrugged out of his lab coat and handed it to the clone, who slipped it on without apparent thought. Lalna's nose wrinkled—the clone was still slimy with green culture fluid.

"Not exactly."

He rolled his eyes. "I mean other than One and Two. Are you Three? You must be Three." Number Four frowned. "Although I can't exactly remember. . . ."

"Oh, that's normal," Lalna explained, giddy. "Because you _definitely_ didn't just hatch from a cloning tank."

Number Four glared at him. "You're not funny."

"You should be nicer to yourself. Positive self-talk, all that." He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. "So you're really the original, huh?"

"Don't start treating me like a celebrity."

"How could I not? I am only a lowly and imperfect copy."

"You're _really_ not funny." Something occurred to him, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. "How long've I been out?"

"About three days," Lalna told him. He could not stop smiling for the life of him.

"Shitting hell. Rythian's going to pitch a fit."

Lalna felt like he'd been punched in the chest. He reached out a hand and grabbed Number Four's arm, partially to arrest his movements and partially to keep himself on his feet.

"Rythian's—Rythian's not well."

Number Four squared off with him, jaw clenched, fists balled. "What?"

"We've had to, er, put him under observation."

"Who in the _hell_ had _that_ idea?" Number Four cried. He shoved Lalna away. "I'm going to get him. I'll deal with _you_ later."

"Don't," Lalna warned, but Number Four was already out the door. He hurried after him. "You don't even know where he _is."_

"I'll find him. Christ, I would've thought even a clone would've been able to manage better than this. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

"He really is _not_ well," he said. He was beginning to wish he'd had a spare set of clothes for Number Four, because the lab coat was not covering nearly enough.

"Of course not," Number Four scoffed. "Because _you_ put him in a box."

"He _tortured_ me!" Lalna snarled, hauling on the clone's shoulder.

Number Four gave him a look that could wither plants.

"Of course he did," he said. "And so will I, because you're an incompetent _shit_ who locked my boyfriend up in a box _in my name._ You're lucky I don't snap your neck right here and now."

"In your—what?"

"You might have had everyone else fooled," he sneered, "but how long did you _really_ think you could keep it up? You're a fraud, and Rythian knew it. As far as I'm concerned, you got what was coming to you."

"You think—you think I was pretending to be you?"

"And I'm going to keep any clones that come after you on a _leash_ because of it."

 _"You're_ the clone," Lalna spat, all the mirth gone from him. "Number Four, standard redstone culture fluid. What did you _think_ you were doing in that bloody tank?"

Number Four looked him up and down. "So you're delusional, too. No wonder Rythian hates you."

"Rythian does _not_ hate me."

"Then why did he torture you?"

"Because he's _sick!"_

The clone's eyes narrowed. "You're jealous," he said at last. "A jealous child, just like Xephos said."

"I am _not."_

"Then why lock me in a tank and steal my identity?"

"When are you going to get it through your thick skull that _you're not the original?"_

He glared, his lip curling. "Here's how this is going to work, Number Three. I am going to go rescue my boyfriend from whatever horrible cage you've got him in, and I am going to take him home and spend, I'm sure, a _ridiculous_ amount of time repairing whatever damage you've done to his trust."

"Don't you dare," Lalna growled, fists clenching. "He's _mine."_

"Delusional as ever. Maybe I'll ask him along to watch me lobotomize you, he'd probably enjoy that. Especially considering what you've done to him. Maybe I'll even guide him through the steps and let him do it himself."

"You won't _touch_ him."

Number Four smiled at him. "I intend to do a _lot_ more than just touch him," he said.

Lalna went for him, blinded by anger and hurt. Number Four saw it coming a mile away and drove a fist into his gut, knocking the breath out of him. He crumpled, but not before grabbing a fistful of the clone's hair. He cracked Number Four's head on the ground, then drove a knee into his chest. He grabbed a second fistful of hair and slammed his head into the ground again.

And again, and again, and again, until the clone stopped kicking.

He knelt on the floor, the twitching body pinned between his knees, oozing ruts gouged into his arms, blood spattered up to his wrists. His breath was coming short and he couldn't seem to catch it. His heart was thundering in his ears. More blood was pooling on the floor, shards of bone and clumps of grey-matter floating amongst it. His own face stared up at him, pale and shocked and still as a wax figure.

Lalna just barely managed to scramble over to the wall before he threw up.

* * *

 

He careened into Xephos's office, blinded by tears and drunk on horror. He fell to his hands and knees just inside the door and could not pull himself upright again. He was vaguely aware that Xephos was at his side and that there was a steadying hand on his back. Xephos was speaking, but he couldn't make out the words.

"I killed him," he moaned, fighting down nausea. "Oh God, Xeph, I _killed_ him."

"Killed who?" Xephos voice was distant and muffled, and Lalna only shook his head and whimpered. A pair of hands cupped his cheeks and he found himself forced to meet Xephos's eyes, sky-blue and hard as diamonds.

"Lalna," he warned. "Who did you kill?"

He drew a shuddering breath while his insides writhed. "N-number Four," he stammered, and had to swallow down yet another wave of nausea. "He was—he thought he was—and he was going to—"

 _"Lalna."_ Xephos shook him, and Lalna's attention was drawn back to those intense eyes. "Calm down. Breathe. Start from the beginning and tell me what happened."

He tried to breathe, but his diaphragm seemed to be as twitchy as the rest of him and he couldn't get more than a gasp of air down at once. Xephos's thumbs wiped the tears from his cheeks, and Lalna reached up to clutch at his wrists, just for the sake of having something to hang on to. Lalna closed his eyes and focused on the hands at either side of his face—warm, calloused, scarred, with strong fingers and wide palms—and the wrists in his hands, through which he could feel a steady pulse.

Somehow, Lalna managed to breathe.

"Number Four . . . woke up. The alarm went off, so I went down and let him out. He thought—he thought he was me—thought he was the original and _I_ was the clone. He wanted . . . to see Rythian, but I told him he was ill, and he was _furious,_ and he was going to let him out, was going to _take_ him—" The anger swelled up in him again, burning his throat and crawling under his skin. "He was going to _take_ him from me."

"You fought?" Xephos asked.

Lalna nodded. "I didn't . . . _mean_ to. I didn't mean to kill him. But he'd, you know, he'd been threatening me, and I couldn't . . . couldn't _let_ him just. . . ."

"You did what was necessary," Xephos told him. "And you likely saved a great many lives. If he had let Rythian loose, you know what would've happened."

He shivered. "But I _killed_ him."

Xephos stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. "He was only a clone, Lalna," he murmured.

"He was _me."_

"He was yours," Xephos countered. "There's a difference. You created him, you had the right to destroy him."

"I didn't _mean_ to. What if—what if it had been someone else? What if I'd—I'd—"

"But it _wasn't_ someone else, Lalna. It was a clone, and moreover a clone who was intent on doing something that would kill all of us. I agree that it's not an ideal situation, and that precautions will have to be taken before any other clones are completed, but there is _no guilt_ in this, Lalna. Do you understand? You're no more guilty than if you'd destroyed one of the security bots."

"He wasn't a robot, Xeph, he was _real_ , he was _alive._ He was _me,_ and I _killed_ him!"

"Lalna." His voice was sharp. "These clones are not people. They aren't _you._ They're clones, and they aren't born with some inherent right to exist. You destroyed a rogue element, a liability. You haven't _killed_ anyone."

He took a few more breaths; they were coming easier now, and the sickness was abating.

"I um. I s'pose we should get somebody to clean up the—the body."

Xephos sighed. "Oh dear. Where did you leave it?"

"Just outside the lab."

He rose, helping Lalna to his feet as he went. "I'll get someone on it. As for you, I think you should go home, take a shower, and try to get some sleep. And see to those scratches on your arms, they look nasty."

Lalna moved to rub his eyes, then noticed the blood on his hands and thought better of it.

"I'll try," he said. "And, Xeph. Er, thank you."

"Of course. You're my friend, Lalna. You should never hesitate to ask for my help."

He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Xephos waved a hand. "Take the day off. God knows, you probably need it."

"You're sure?"

He gave him a scathing look. "As important as you are, I think we can manage one day without you. If everything goes to shit, you can always tell me _I told you so_ later."

Lalna approximated a smile. "I will," he promised, and tottered homeward.

 


	8. Puppeteer

_Log 10_

_We've got a time bomb in the basement and it's my fault._

_After a week of complete isolation, I had expected Rythian to be worn so thin that he would be incapable of fighting back—that he would be pliant, or at least_ _hungry, for Christ's sake—but there's been no change in his behavior whatsoever. I can't enter the room without him flying into a rage, and Lalna hasn't fared much better. Even Honeydew seemed incapable of getting through to him, and it was a difficult enough decision to let him try._

_Whatever that purple smoke was that he filled up the room with has stained the walls, and I would swear that it's spreading. It looks fungal, or possibly like a mold of some sort. I've had a testificate take some samples—he doesn't seem to mind the testificates so long as they don't engage with him—and am running some experiments to see if I can determine what the stuff is._

_At this rate, we may have to resort to drastic measures to get Rythian to cooperate. If another week goes by without any sign of change, we'll gas him to sleep and do our experimenting while he's unconscious—a messy and dangerous solution, but better by far than leaving him down there indefinitely._

_God help us if one of Lalna's clones gets loose and finds him._

_End Log 10_

* * *

 

"Do you know who you are?"

Lalna blinked at him.

"Lalna?" he guessed.

"Very good. Do you know _where_ you are?"

He looked around. "YogLabs. The lab on B5."

"Excellent." Xephos ticked off another item on his mental checklist. "Can you tell me the date?"

"Uh . . . Wednesday?"

"Which Wednesday, Lalna?"

"The fifteenth?"

Xephos frowned. "Twenty-ninth."

Lalna started. "Christ, what the hell _happened_ to me?"

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me. What do you remember?"

He stared down at his own hands, his face scrunched up in concentration. "I was working. Down here. Something—something went wrong."

"Do you remember what that was?"

He thought for a long time. "No," he said at last.

"Well," Xephos sighed, and sat back. "That's all right. It went something like this: Number Five—you remember Number Five?"

"Planned to drain the culture fluid before neurological maturity," Lalna said.

"Exactly. Well, I'm afraid he got loose and took exception to your being there. I believe he intended to kill you, but luckily the tank he stuffed you in was well oxygenated."

"So that's how—?" He gestured to the green slime coating his skin.

"Precisely."

"But why am I naked?"

"Oh, right, sorry," Xephos said, and handed over a white bathrobe. Lalna pulled it on and wrapped it tight around himself. "Number Five got you pretty hard on the back of the head, and then, I assume, stole your wardrobe to aid in his escape."

"Did he get out?"

"No, but I'm afraid we had to neutralize him."

"Shame."

"Mm. There are some highly dangerous experiments running on B8, which I would assume he was attempting to use to his advantage."

"And you had to kill him because it might've worked."

"Er, well, broadly, yes." He ran a hand back through his hair. "Technically what it would've done is turn the entire facility into a very large hole in the ground, but it's a similar idea."

"Ah." He frowned. "I don't remember any experiments like that."

"Yes, well, between this and the cryotheum testing, I thought you had enough on your plate." Xephos stood and extended a hand to Lalna. He took it, and Xephos pulled him to his feet.

"Fair enough. I'll uh, I'll go get changed, shall I?"

"Probably wise. A shower wouldn't hurt either."

His nose wrinkled as he looked down at himself. "Yeah, you're telling me."

"And afterwards, if you wouldn't mind dropping by the medical bay. You have been concussed quite badly, and I'd hate for anything _else_ to happen to you."

"Yeah? All right. Seems like the sort of thing a potion could fix, but if you say so." He reached out to clap Xephos on the shoulder, then thought better of it and stuck his hands in the bathrobe pockets. "Thanks, by the way. For er, for getting me out."

Xephos smiled. "Anytime."

He escorted Lalna back to the main floor, sending him on his way with words of encouragement and a friendly pat on the shoulder. From there, he descended all the way down to B8 and slipped into the monitor room.

Lalna looked up at him from his chair, wearing an expression of incredulity.

"So did you make all that up beforehand, or were you just pulling it out of your arse?" he asked.

"Oh, shut up," Xephos said, dropping into the other chair. "He's still breathing, which is better than _you've_ managed so far."

Lalna glared at him. "Number Five was _not_ my fault."

"Of course not. Clearly his nervous system was underdeveloped, which is why he slipped and fell into a vat of cryotheum. All by himself."

"Yes, that's _exactly_ what happened. I was nowhere _near_ him."

Xephos waved a hand. "I know, I know. The fact remains that he died, while Number Six is quite happily going about his business. Another hour and I'll have set a record."

"Well you don't have to _brag,"_ Lalna grumbled.

"Yes I do," Xephos said. He checked the monitors. "How's our tempest in a teapot?"

"Rythian's fine," Lalna answered, his voice tight.

"Have you been in to see him today?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

"Hm. See if you can get him to talk about the purple stuff on the walls. The sample we had in the biology lab ate a microscope."

Lalna winced. "I'll see what I can do. Sure you don't want to get one of the testificates to ask him? He seems to not . . . hate them. As much."

"No, I think I want you to do it. I'm still holding out a faint hope that we'll be able to wear him out eventually."

"So you're sending me specifically _because_ he'll pitch a fit."

"That's a large part of it."

"Why don't _you_ go, then?"

Xephos spread his hands and rolled his eyes. "I dealt with the clone, Lalna, it's _your_ turn to do something unpleasant."

"Why not send Honeydew?"

"No," Xephos snapped, his heart making a bid to leap out of his mouth. He swallowed it back down. "No. He's still traumatized from last time. I'm not making him go back."

Lalna gave him an odd look. "Right," he said. "Does he at least know that Number Six is running about upstairs?"

"No, and he shouldn't. He's a terrible liar, and the last thing I need is one of your clones taking offense to something he says."

"He might mention that Rythian's down here."

"I said he was a terrible liar, not insensitive. When was the last time he brought it up to you?"

Lalna chewed his lip. "Ah."

"Now quit stalling and go ask Rythian about his freakish purple mold. And don't make me drag you out again."

"I promise to run as fast as my little feet will carry me when he starts with the unearthly howling." Lalna shoved himself to his feet, readjusted his goggles on his head, and slumped out.

Xephos turned his attention to the monitor.

Rythian was sitting, motionless, in the center of his box, hands resting on his knees, staring straight ahead. He remained this way even as Lalna opened the door and slipped in. Xephos steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips.

Lalna approached as though walking up on a bear in a trap, his hands hovering at his sides, his shoulders tense. Faintly, Xephos could hear him talking through the two closed doors.

He must have said something objectionable, because Rythian's head snapped around to face him. Xephos jumped at the sudden movement, and on the screen, Lalna did the same. He froze in place—Rythian must have been speaking, but too quietly for the sound to carry.

"I have _got_ to get sound wired up in there," Xephos grumbled to himself.

Lalna took a step back. Rythian still had not moved, but he looked less like an animal in a trap and more like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to spring. Lalna shook himself and pointed to the walls, which were now coated in purple tendrils and splotches from ceiling to floor. Mucousy strands of the stuff dangled from the ceiling, and sometimes Xephos would swear he could see things moving underneath the slimy mats above.

Rythian was shaking his head, eyes closed. Lalna pointed again, with emphasis. Rythian's shoulders shook in what was probably a laugh, and then he opened his eyes and looked straight at Xephos.

He pushed his chair back from the monitors on instinct alone, then frowned.

"He can't _see_ you," he berated himself, scooting back up to the screens. Rythian's gaze had not wavered, and it was making Xephos's skin crawl.

Lalna threw up his hands and stalked out. Xephos heard the door across the hall slam. Rythian was still staring at him.

The door to the monitoring room opened, and Xephos glanced up at Lalna, red-faced and fuming. When he looked back to the screen, Rythian had resumed his pose of meditation.

"I take it things didn't go well," Xephos remarked.

Lalna threw himself into his chair. _"Wouldn't you like to know,_ he said. And I said _yes, I very much would_ and he told me to go fuck myself."

"You have to admit," Xephos said, "it's an improvement on the screaming."

He snorted. "Says you. I think I liked it better. Now he's just being _stubborn."_

"I could go in, if you like. That usually gets him screaming."

"Don't tempt me."

"I think it's fair to say that _whatever_ it is, it's probably dangerous or at least unpleasant, and it needs to be contained."

"Yeah, but _how?_ A little blot of it ate a whole microscope."

"Yes," Xephos hedged, "but it hasn't eaten the test tube. Glass seems to be a safe bet. At least for the moment."

"Yeah, and what about when it starts coming under the door and into the hall? What then?"

Xephos pinched his nose. "Look, we'll get him to talk before that becomes a problem."

Bristling, Lalna shot, "Don't talk like you're going to start torturing him."

"At this point, I'm almost considering it."

Lalna grabbed him by the throat. Xephos kicked him between the legs. Lalna's hand turned to rubber and he slid to the floor, wheezing.

"Shockingly," Xephos said, "I had suspected you would do that."

"Don't you _touch_ him," Lalna threatened. It was somewhat undermined by the pained squeak of his voice.

"Oh, calm down. I was _joking."_

"It wasn't funny."

"Yes, I can see that. You have really _got_ to stop resorting to violence when someone says something you don't like. It's highly counter-productive."

"Stop talking about hurting Rythian," Lalna replied, his eyes watering, "and I won't have to."

Xephos spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. "Lalna, would you like to be taken off of this project? I feel like you have plenty to do, between the cryotheum and the clones."

"Why? So you can _experiment_ on him behind my back?"

"So we can stop having this same stupid conversation over and over again. I'm not going to _hurt_ him, Lalna. I have no interest in hurting him. Quite the opposite. The person in that box—right now, at this very moment—is not Rythian. Rythian is trapped somewhere inside his own head, which I'd be willing to bet is far more unpleasant than a few simple tests would be. You seem to have forgotten that."

Lalna shook his head, managing to sit up. "Point is, he's still in there. I won't let you hurt him."

"Oh, for God's _sake,_ Lalna, take your head out of your ass and _think_ for two seconds. _I am not going to hurt Rythian._ He is my _friend,_ and I do not hurt my friends. What you are doing is not helping him—it is, in fact, prolonging his suffering. So either learn to sit down and shut up, or _get out of the way."_

His jaw worked as he ground his teeth, but finally he dropped his gaze and sighed.

"Fine. But if I tell you to stop, for any reason, you _stop."_

"That seems fair."

A silence fell between them. Lalna picked himself up off the floor and moved to his chair, gingerly.

"Number Six will wonder about him," he said at last. "We've got to tell him something or he'll come looking."

"What would you suggest?"

"You're the one making up bullshit stories to tell him."

"You're the one who knows what he'll believe. I don't like taking chances."

Lalna thought. "How long did you tell him he'd been out for? Two weeks?"

"Two weeks, yes."

He shrugged. "Tell him Rythian ran off with somebody else."

"Really? That's your plan?"

"Oh, he'll be furious, and he'll probably try to find whoever you tell him it was and bash their head in, but he'll believe it."

"That seems . . . cruel."

"He's only a clone. And, you should probably say you don't know where they went."

"No, I meant, cruel to whoever I put in the blank."

"Oh, _that._ Just pick somebody you don't like."

"I'm really doubting how believable this will be."

"It's absolutely believable. Ryth's never _met_ anyone he wouldn't bang."

Xephos stomach turned and he made a face. "That seems unlikely."

"I've got a list of people—and other things—he's done it with."

"Lalna—"

"It's two pages long. Anything with an appropriate hole, really."

He clapped a hand over his mouth and dry-heaved. He waved his other hand in a gesture of _enough._

"Sorry. But you get the point."

Xephos took a deep breath and swallowed back the revulsion. "Yes, I think you've illustrated it quite clearly." He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Lalna brightened. "Actually, y'know what, just say it was Sjin."

"Who?"

"Annoying little shit who lives in the village. Keeps stealing my power and setting my things on fire."

"I'm not sicking your homicidal clone on an innocent man just because he _annoys_ you. Besides, it throws a wrench in the whole _ran away together_ narrative."

"Hm. S'pose so. Fine, just say it was some testificate."

Xephos's nose wrinkled. "Really?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

He sighed. "All right. Keep an eye on Rythian, I'll go deal with Number Six."

"Best of luck," Lalna wished him, and turned back to the monitors.

* * *

 

"Xeph? You got a minute?"

Honeydew's head was poking in through the crack in the door. Xephos laid down his pen.

"Several. Come on in."

He entered and shut the door behind him. Xephos raised an eyebrow.

"Er," said Honeydew, "about that purple stuff."

"Ah. The infamous purple stuff. I don't suppose you've made a scientific breakthrough?"

Honeydew made a noncommittal noise and waggled his head. "I've had a thought about it."

He folded his arms on his desk. "Let's hear it."

"Well, see, me and Rythian were talking a few weeks ago, and he said somethin' about somethin' called Flux. It's like nuclear shit, but for magic. And I was talking to Dr. Gozencrantz—"

"I'm so sorry."

"Look, can I finish?"

Xephos raised his hands and sat back.

"Anyway, he said that purple shit ate one of the microscopes in the lab. And Lalna's mentioned how it's spreadin' all over Rythian's room. And it reminded me, right, of how Rythian said this Flux shit eats things. 'Cause that's what he said, word-for-word."

He considered the dwarf, taking in his nervous stance, his darting eyes, his sweaty brow.

"So you're saying," Xephos said, "that we've got the magical equivalent of a reactor meltdown in our basement."

Honeydew nodded. "That about sums it up, yeah."

"And you only just now thought to bring that up."

"Cut me some slack, I've only just figured it out!"

"And did Rythian, in his infinite wisdom, happen to mention what one was supposed to _do_ about this Flux?"

"Er," said Honeydew, and scratched the back of his head. "I can't exactly remember."

He sighed. "Well. That's fine. I'm sure we'll figure it out. Thank you, friend, that was very helpful."

"Yeah, of course." He shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with his beard.

"Was there something else?"

"No!" Honeydew blurted, then colored. "I uh, well, there _was_ one thing."

"What's that?"

"Er, Lalna's been acting a bit odd."

"Ah," said Xephos. "That."

Honeydew brightened. "You've noticed?"

"Yes, I'd noticed. I think he's rather bent out of shape about Rythian's, ah, situation."

"Nah, 's not that. He's acting, like, _really_ weird. Keeps staring at his hands and muttering under his breath."

"Oh. Hm. That's new. What does he mutter about?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, can't understand him. But it's really _creepy."_

"I'll have Testificate M. D. look into it."

"I really think you'd better come see for yourself."

"Despite any appearance to the contrary, I actually _am_ rather busy."

Honeydew frowned and folded his arms. "Right, okay, so now you're too busy for your friends."

"I am _not—_ Honeydew, look. I am running an entire facility here. As much as I would love to attend to every little problem myself, I can't."

"Yeah, but _why?"_ he demanded. _"Why_ have you got to run this place? What are we even _doing_ here, Xeph?"

"Science, mainly."

"I mean it. You and me, we ain't cut out for this sort of thing. Sitting about all day doin' paperwork. We're meant to be outside, adventuring!"

Xephos turned his eyes to his paperwork. He'd gone cold inside. "I think I've had quite enough of adventuring, thank you."

"Yeah, all right, fair enough, but why _this?_ It's bloody mad, and you know it."

"I'm just trying to see to it that everyone gets the same protections we used to have. I'm sorry if that's not a noble enough cause for you."

"It's got nothing to do with nobility!" Honeydew objected. "Christ, Xeph, I'm _bored._ I'm bored out of my fucking skull and I hardly ever _see_ you anymore and I _miss_ you."

His sinuses prickled, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, friend," he said at last. "I know it's not fair to you. I'll . . . try to make time."

"Good," said Honeydew. "'Cause you're wastin' away in here, and it's breakin' my heart."

He chuffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Three months to get this clone thing under control, and then I'm all yours. For factory-building purposes."

"You said _three months_ last month."

"Yes, well, that was before the whole Rythian situation. It's pushed the schedule back a bit."

Honeydew jabbed a finger at him. "Three months. I'm holdin' you to it."

Xephos smiled at him. "Good."

* * *

 

Behind the dim glow of the field, Rythian's eyes burned.

Xephos raised his hands as the door closed behind him. Rythian remained seated, still as a rock, his gaze fixed upon Xephos.

Xephos gestured to the walls. "Flux," he said.

A flicker of expression crossed Rythian's face, too swift to be identified.

"Honeydew told me." He looked around the room, clasping his hands behind his back. "Can't be pleasant to be living in it. I could send in some testificates to clean it up. If I knew how to get rid of it, of course."

"It will eat you alive," Rythian said, "from the inside out. And then you can change your name and get it over with. Strange, though, I've never known a worm to grow into a maggot."

The cold fury swelled in his chest again, and his hands clenched on each other.

"I'm sure you understand the potential scale of the disaster you've created in here," he said. "All I'm asking is containment options."

His eyes crinkled. "I'm going to enjoy watching it consume you. Do you think Honeydew will throw you into lava again, or will he just cut your head off?"

"I liked you _so_ much better when you were a screaming madman," Xephos muttered through gritted teeth.

"Funny. I could say the same for you. It's fine. I'll wait until it comes around again. Try licking the walls, you can speed up the process."

"So it was the Flux that caused the change?" he asked.

"What change?" Rythian replied.

Xephos ground his teeth.

"I really don't think you're in a position to be deliberately pissing me off," he said.

"Threatening me, Israphel?" Rythian inquired.

Xephos's sword was drawn before he could think, and the cold was spreading out through his limbs, humming with electricity, lighting begging for something to strike.

"You don't frighten me," Rythian continued, smiling. "I have very little concern for my own well-being. At this point, I just want to watch you squirm."

 _Put the sword away,_ Xephos told himself. _He's still your friend, even if he is being a total asshole._

And then, some other part of his brain echoed, _Put the sword away. You have a much better weapon._

Xephos put the sword away, though the cold fury made his limbs stiff and unruly.

"You know I wouldn't hurt you, Rythian," he said, half-choked with the effort of keeping his voice calm.

Rythian laughed at him.

"I mean it. With the way Lalna goes on about _damaged goods_ I don't think he'd ever let me alone."

Rythian stopped laughing. Xephos raised his eyebrows at him.

"Not that I blame him, of course—he can't help being a bit possessive. Well, excessively possessive, really. The way he talks about you, sometimes I forget you're sentient."

Silence was starting to steam off of him, and his breathing had grown deep and precise. His hands were clenched on his knees. Xephos grinned at him.

"I'm going to interpret your silence as an invitation to keep talking. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised at your reaction to being put in there." He gestured to the forcefield. "I really didn't think you'd mind being in a box, seeing as Lalna's had you in one for months already."

Rythian was staring, fixated, at his throat. The attention made Xephos's skin crawl, and he rubbed at the feeling, swallowing.

"Honestly, I don't know what you see in him. I suppose it has something to do with _love,_ or something, although that doesn't make any sense either, because no one _I've_ ever loved has kept me on a leash. Maybe I could pick up on a pattern if I looked through his list of your previous owners."

There was a sharp _crack,_ and a puff of dust rose from a brand new fracture in the floor beneath Rythian. A wave of dark satisfaction flowed through Xephos, soothing the contact between his skin and the cold underneath. He spread his hands and smiled.

"His words," he said, "not mine."

Three more _cracks,_ and Rythian's outline was starting to blur, throwing off chips of violet light. The discomfort at his throat had turned to a sharp prickling that went all the way through to his trachea.

"Aaaand I see negotiations have broken down. I'll leave you to it, shall I? Much as I enjoy the screaming-madman performance, I think I've seen it enough times to know how it goes." He turned and waved over his shoulder. "Ta."

He could feel Rythian burning holes in the back of his head all the way out the door.

 


	9. Nothing Personal

_Dear Diary,_

_Remember how I said something was wrong with Lalna before? Yeah, I was wrong._

_Something's really wrong with Lalna. _

_It's like he's gone completely mad. Half the time he's paranoid, sleep-deprived, and confusing—y'know, normal —and the other half of the time he's just furious. Like, all the time angry about literally everything to the point where I can't even talk to him. Maybe it's 'cause he's not sleeping? I mean he doesn't sleep enough anyway, but he's working a  lot,  at the lab and in the village, and I think it might've made him snap. _

_If I'm honest, though, Xeph isn't doing much better, though at least he's consistent about it. He's gotten real twitchy, especially around Rythian—can't say I blame him—but also about all that purple shit. Can't blame him for that, either, 'cause it ate a testificate the other day, only he stumbled about for half an hour putting his hands on shit so now there's a bunch of holes in the walls and we've all got to wear gloves all the time so we don't end up purple and crazy._

_Xeph's told me to stay home 'cause things at the labs have gotten too dangerous, but I said 'fuck that' and so now I've got to figure out what to do while I'm here. It's not so much that there's nothing that needs doing, it's just that I haven't got the brains or patience to actually do  any of it, so I've got to find little simple things to work on while I keep an eye on Xeph and Lalna. _

_God knows they need it._

* * *

 

"So what you're saying is," Honeydew clarified, "if I don't pay extra, you're just gonna take the deed back."

The short, stout one with the tusks smiled at him.

"That's right, sunshine. High demand for that plot, can't keep it on hold forever."

"Much as we'd love to, that just ain't how the game's played," said the green one. He was standing, leaning one hand on the desk with the other hand behind his back. Even bent nearly in half, he still loomed. "And bein' men of business, we've got to play the game."

The bearded one nodded, solemn. "It's nothin' personal. Hate to have you think it was personal."

Honeydew folded his arms. "You've got about a zillion deeds lying about, how come so many people want mine?"

"Ooh, look at him, askin' all the tough questions," the bearded one cooed.

"Don't like answerin' tough questions, do we boys."

The tall one straightened up. His head brushed the ceiling of Honeydew's office. "Nah, mates. Don't like answerin' any questions, come to think of it. But tough ones? Ooh, might have to get a bit tough ourselves, y'know what I mean."

"Don't wanna have to get tough with you, sunshine."

"Don't make it personal, it's nothin' personal."

Honeydew splayed his hands on the table and stood up. It actually made him shorter, but it was the thought that counted.

"Look. If you're gonna start threatening me—"

"Threatenin'?" the stout one cried. "Who was threatenin'? Smiff, were you threatenin' him?"

The green one raised his hands. "I ain't never threatened anybody in my life, Trott. Ross, you threaten our customer?"

Beardy-man affected a look of shock. "Me? No! Never!"

Trott turned back to Honeydew. "See there? No one's threatenin'."

"Yeah," Smiffy leered, folding at the waist to get closer to Honeydew's eye-level. "And if you don't pay up, we'll smash your fuckin' kneecaps, won't we, boys."

"Into little bits," Ross confirmed. "Little bitty bits!"

"Oy, now hold on a second—"

Trott cut him off. "It's nothin' personal, sunshine, just how it's done. No one'd _really_ break your kneecaps."

"Not unless you didn't pay up," Smiffy added.

"Smiff," Ross whined, "don't _say_ that."

"What? Can't let him walk around thinkin' we won't break his fuckin' kneecaps if we don't get our cash."

"But you don't have to _say_ it," Trott told him.

"Look," Honeydew interrupted, "how much d'you want?"

Smiffy beamed. "How much've you got?"

"Like, on me, right now, or—?"

"Right now?" Ross asked. "That depends, how much've you got on you right now?"

"Might not be enough. Might have to walk with you down to the bank," Smiffy said.

Honeydew rifled through his desk. "Er, got a bit of gold in here somewhere—"

"Gold's good."

"We like gold."

"How much gold?"

"Ah, here it is," Honeydew said, opening the bottom drawer. "Looks like about . . . four bars?"

"Four gold bars?" Ross exclaimed.

"That's just insulting," Smiffy said.

"Four ain't gonna cut it, sunshine," Trott told him. "Looks like you're takin' a trip to the bank."

"But we'll take the four now, as a deposit," Ross said, stepping forward.

Honeydew bristled. "Look, how in the hell is four god damn gold bars not enough for you?"

"Awful big plot."

"High demand. Really high."

"Got an offer of six diamonds for it yesterday."

"Only reason we didn't take it is 'cause we _like_ you."

"Sharks in the water, mate, we're puttin' ourselves on the line."

"All right, all right," Honeydew said, waving his hands. He heaved out the gold bars and thunked them down on the desk. They vanished into the salesmen's hands before the wood had stopped quivering.

"Right then, that's all sorted, let's take a little stroll down to the bank, shall we?" Smiffy reached across the desk and put a hand around Honeydew's arm.

There was a perfunctory knock at the door. "Honeydew?"

"I'm—er—I'm busy!" he called back, his voice squeaking.

"Of course," said Xephos, opening the door. He stopped in his tracks, and the friendly expression on his face drained away, leaving something hard as rock.

Smiffy uncurled his fingers from around Honeydew's arm, one by one, and straightened up.

"Well, if it ain't the big boss-man himself," Trott remarked, rising from his seat. All three salesmen turned their attention to Xephos, and Honeydew could almost see the grey fins on their backs.

"He ain't so big," Smiffy said, sidling up to Xephos. "Bit twiggy, ain't he."

"Twiggy twig," Ross confirmed, eyeing him.

"What," Xephos said, "are you doing in my lab?"

"Just settlin' a bit of business," Trott answered.

"Yeah, what's our business to you?" Ross wondered.

"Between us and the little guy, innit," Smiffy said.

Xephos's hand strayed to the sword at his hip. "Get out," he said.

"Kickin' us out?"

"I think he's kickin' us out, mates."

"I don't think he's got the right to kick us out."

"Legitimate businessmen, we are, he can't just throw us out."

"Let me rephrase," said Xephos, and his voice made Honeydew's skin crawl. "Get out of my lab in the next sixty seconds, or you will never see the light of day again."

The three salesmen glanced at each other.

"Right, well—"

"Pleasure doin' business with you—"

"Got to be goin', loads of other appointments—"

They stumbled over each other on the way out, giving Xephos a wide berth. When they had gone, Xephos sagged and ran a hand through his hair.

"I cannot _believe_ you let them in here," he said.

Honeydew pulled up his chair and sat down, scratching his beard.

"And I can't believe you kicked 'em out like that. I mean, you didn't have to _threaten_ them."

"I'm running very low on patience these days." He gestured to the chair recently vacated by Trott. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Yeah, go for it."

Xephos sat, looking anywhere but at Honeydew. "I was hoping I could talk to you."

He sighed. "All right, what's gone wrong _this_ time?"

"Wrong? No, no, nothing's _wrong,_ I just wanted to have a chat, that's all."

"Uh-huh." He folded his arms. "About what, exactly?"

"Well, I just—I mean—how're you doing?"

Honeydew stared at him.

"Have you put something in the coffee?"

"What? No! I just haven't seen you in a few days, and I wanted to, you know, catch up."

"Uh-huh."

Xephos gave him a pleading look. "I swear I haven't poisoned you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of—of _course_ I'm sure!" He leaned back in the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not here to ask any favors, or check up on any experiments, or anything. I just wanted to talk to you. Some days I think you're the only sane person _in_ this place, and God knows, I could use a little sanity."

Honeydew softened. "All right, look, how about we go have lunch in the village. Do you good to be out of this place for a bit. Do me some good, too."

He gave a wan smile. "I'd love to, really, but I just haven't got the time."

"Nonsense," Honeydew declared, getting to his feet. "I'll tell you one thing, spaceman, you're not starving yourself on _my_ watch."

"It's not like I'm not going to _eat—"_

"No! No, come on, up you get, you're coming with me. We're getting you out of the loony bin for five minutes."

_"Honeydew—"_

"All aboard the Sanity Express!" He rounded the desk and chucked him on the arm. "Come on, ya bugger, haven't got all day."

Xephos threw up his hands and got to his feet. "You're a bully, you know that."

"Yeah, I'm a real dick, forcing you to get fresh air and real food. God, can't stand meself." He held the door open for Xephos and then headed for the exit.

Xephos snorted. "All right, friend, you haven't got to rub it in."

"'Course I have. On account of I'm a bully. Now. Where'm I going to bully you into getting lunch?"

"I've no idea. Probably the only non-testificate-owned restaurant in the village."

"Well _that's_ racist. You saying I'm racist?"

"No, no, of course not, I would never."

"Good, you'd better not, or I'll put you in with the rest of the honking bastards."

They stepped through the front door, out under the shadow of the much larger, much less functional door. It was raining steadily, and there was a chill in the air.

"Ah, yes," Xephos remarked, "lovely fresh air and sunshine. What a huge improvement from those dreary, warm, dry halls."

"Oh, shut up." He sniffed. "Not like you couldn't do with a shower anyway."

"I— _excuse_ me?"

"Unless you've got an umbrella in your pocket." He looked up at Xephos and fluttered his eyelashes. "Or are you just happy to see me?"

Xephos smacked the back of his head. Honeydew laughed.

"I don't suppose _you've_ got an umbrella."

"Yeah, 's under my desk. But don't think I'm not happy to see you anyway."

"You're horrible."

"I'll run and get it, shall I?"

"That would be ideal, yes."

Honeydew saluted, then turned on his heel and marched back into the labs.

"'S fuckin' _pissing_ it down out there," he mentioned to the lady behind the desk.

"Hmm," she said.

"Bloody testificates," he grumbled under his breath.

It took him a moment to unearth the umbrella in his office from beneath the detritus of his boredom. He hurried back to the front door with it under his arm, the oiled leather slimy against his bare skin.

When he got back to the stoop, Xephos was gone.

Honeydew sighed and poked his head inside.

"Oy," he called to the receptionist. "Xephos come back through here?"

She nodded. "Urgent business," she said, speaking almost entirely through her huge nose.

"Of course it was," he muttered under his breath, and shut the door.

The rain pattered on the umbrella, the mud squelched beneath his feet, and Honeydew made his way to the Captive Creeper alone.

* * *

 

"Hallo, handsome," Minty greeted him. He shook out the umbrella and put it in the stand by the door. He made an effort to stomp the mud off his boots, although it was smeared up to his ankles in places.

"Hallo, lovely," he responded. He stumped up to the bar and hoisted himself into a chair. The bar was empty of other patrons, the usual babble of conversation replaced by the steady drumming of the rain.

"Beautiful weather we're having," she remarked. "Grand for business."

He waggled his beard. "I can see that."

"Bacon sandwich as usual?"

"Yeah, and I think I'll have a cider with it."

"Long day already, hm."

"God, you have no _idea."_

She filled a glass with honey-gold liquid and set it in front of him, then moved over to the grill and slapped a few slabs of bacon onto it, filling the bar with hissing and a most heavenly smell.

"Lab trouble?" she inquired over her shoulder.

"Sort of." He sipped the cider—it was sweet, but had a considerable bite to it. "Been having some problems with land ownership besides."

"Oh? I didn't know you had any land round here."

"I don't, really. It's a bit far from here. Couple miles, at least. I'm plannin' to put a Jaffa factory on it. Y'know, once Xeph and Lalna are done with their . . . stuff."

"Hm. Why so far away?"

"So they can't come scurryin' back here the moment they get bored, 's why."

Minty clicked her teeth and flipped the bacon over. "I hate to say this, but maybe you should leave them to it? There are plenty of other people in town who'd happily work with you, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but see, the thing is, I'm not sure I could happily work with _them._ Don't get me wrong, I _like_ 'em all fine, just. . . ." He shrugged and drank some more. "It ain't the same."

"You're worried about them."

"God damn right I am. That fuckin' lab's sucking their _souls_ out. It'll get mine next, if I'm not careful."

"Soulless Honeydew," she mused, considering the ceiling. "Now that would be a sight to see."

"Yeah, thanks, that's very helpful."

Minty plonked down a bacon sandwich in front of him. It was more bacon than bread.

"How's that for helpful?" she asked.

"You're a goddess," he replied, and dug in.

Minty leaned her elbows on the bar and sighed. "I've got to admit, I've been worried. About all of you, really. I barely see any of you any more, and when I do, it's like this. Or worse."

"Worse?" he asked, around a mouthful of bacon.

"I had to escort Lalna out the other night. It's not that I don't think he has a right to be upset—he does—it's just that I wish he wouldn't come in and get raging drunk and start threatening my other customers."

Honeydew frowned. "Yeah?"

"Mm. I think he's taking the break-up hard. Which I understand, of course, it's just, I wish he would do it somewhere _else_ for once."

He swallowed. "Yeah, makes sense, I s'pose. Not sure I'd call it a _break-up_ exactly, but I get where you're coming from."

"Then what _would_ you call it?"

"Er, a complete and insane betrayal of trust? Something like that."

"You say that as though Lalna trusted him an inch."

"What?"

"You saw how he was. Honestly, if I'd been in Rythian's shoes, I would've run off ages ago."

"Er," Honeydew began. "Still not _entirely_ sure what you're talking about."

Minty stopped and considered him.

"That's an excellent point," she said at last. "I get the feeling we might have been given different stories. What did he tell _you_ happened with Rythian?"

"He didn't _tell_ me anything," Honeydew said. "Rythian's in a big glowing box underneath YogLabs pitching a fuckin' fit and trying to kill anybody who walks in the door."

Minty's eyes went hard. "Is he. And you've seen this for yourself?"

"Yeah, 'f course I have. Xeph tried to get me to talk some sense into him." He shivered and took a long pull off his cider. "Tell you one thing, I'm not fuckin' going in _there_ again. Nearly shat meself."

"See, it's interesting you say that," she went on, "because what _I_ heard was that Rythian had run off with some testificate while Lalna was in hospital."

Honeydew just barely managed not to spray cider all over the bar. "Who in the _hell_ told you _that?"_

"Lalna. Supposedly, that's why he comes in every night to get drunk, cry on the bar, and threaten every testificate in sight."

"That's fucked up," he said. "Why would he _do_ that?"

"In my professional opinion? Because he believes it." Her eyes narrowed. "Honeydew, how _much_ do you know about what goes on at that lab?"

He set the rest of his bacon sandwich down. His stomach had shriveled into a black knot.

"Apparently," he said, "not nearly enough."

* * *

 

He planted his feet just inside Lalna's door, folded his arms, and stuck out his chin.

"All right," he said. "What the fuck is goin' on with you?"

Lalna blinked at him. His hair was a mess, and he could have carried several days' rations in the bags under his eyes.

"Huh?" he said.

Honeydew gestured at him. "What the fuck is goin' on with you?" he repeated.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, you could start with why you gave Minty some bullshit story about Rythian runnin' off with a testificate."

Lalna groaned and put both hands over his face. "Listen, Honeydew, it really isn't important."

"No? Well, I'll just be on my fuckin' way then, shall I?" He glared. "I'm not leavin' without an explanation."

Chewing his lip, Lalna hunched over his desk, staring at his hands.

"It's not any of your business," he said at last.

"I'm _making_ it my god damn business. What the _fuck_ is goin' on with you?"

He sighed and hung his head. "All right, look. The Lalna in the village—isn't me."

Honeydew blinked at him. "Uh . . . huh?"

"He's a clone. Xeph and I have been working on getting that superpower-thing working for everyone."

"You _cloned_ yourself."

"Yeah. I didn't want to let him out of the facility, but Xephos thought it'd be best, so now he's out there pretending to be me and _now,_ of course, I can't leave this fucking lab 'cause I might run into him and the _last_ time that happened, the clone didn't make it out alive."

"Wait, _what?"_

Lalna waved a hand. "It's not important. Point is, Xephos fed the clone all that shit about Rythian so he wouldn't come looking for him. 'Cause God knows, if he knew what was _really_ going on, he'd kill somebody."

"So you cloned yourself," Honeydew said, "and then _lied_ to him and set him loose on the world with this bullshit about Rythian, because you're scared he'll—what, come in on a rescue mission?"

"With extreme prejudice," Lalna answered. "Number Four was so pissed off about it that he threatened to lobotomize me. Might've had something to do with why Five jumped into a vat of cryotheum, too."

"What—no, y'know what, never mind. _Why?"_

Lalna frowned at him. "What?"

 _"Why?_ Why're you doing any of this? Why set loose a clone who might start killin' people? Why put Rythian in a box in the first place? And, most importantly, _why hasn't anybody told me?"_

"It's—look, it's not personal—"

"Last person who said that to me threatened to break my kneecaps."

"Honeydew, _listen,_ for God's sake. You're not exactly the world's best liar, and we couldn't risk you letting something slip to Number Six about Rythian. If he even _suspected_ the truth of what's going on here, he'd go fucking _berserk_ trying to rescue him. Any clone would."

"Yeah? So what went wrong with you?"

Lalna froze. His eyes were fixed on the papers on his desk, and his hands were shaking.

"What d'you mean by that?"

"How come all these clones would literally kill to get Rythian loose, and you're sittin' there trying to keep him in the box? You _know_ it's wrong, why are you _doing_ it?"

"You don't understand. That's—whatever's in the box down there, it isn't Rythian. Right now."

"Oh, yes it bloody well is."

"You _saw_ him! He was out of his mind!"

"Yeah, and I would've been, too, if I got suddenly boxed up by people I trusted!"

"Look, you don't _understand."_

"You're damn right I don't understand. Maybe, and here's a thought, it's because people keep fuckin' _lying_ to me!"

"It's for your own good."

"Oh, fuck _off,_ Lalna! What the fuck're you so scared of? That I'll balls up all your little plans with my idiot dwarf common sense? A little _compassion?"_

"Shut up, Honeydew."

"Why the fuck is Rythian in the box, then?"

"Because he's not Rythian! You saw what he did to me!"

 _"No he fucking didn't!"_ Honeydew cried, bringing his heel down on the floor, ringing steel against stone. "He didn't, and you bloody well know it!"

Lalna shot to his feet and slammed his hands on his desk. "Then who the fuck _did?"_

He took an involuntary step back, then held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

"I don't know. I don't know what the fuck's going on here, but I'm gonna find out. Are you gonna help me, or not?"

"You know," Lalna said, glaring at him, "there's a reason Xephos and me don't tell you shit. You just can't handle it."

"I'll take that as a no, then."

"Honeydew," he began, and then sagged, rubbing his forehead. "Look, if you've really got an issue, take it up with Xeph, all right? I'm just trying to work with him. Do what's asked of me."

"Maybe I will," said Honeydew, but the fight had gone out of him. Lalna looked exhausted, defeated, lonely. "I er . . . sorry to bother you."

Lalna waved a hand and sank back into his chair. "Don't worry about it."

"Right. I'll . . . I'll be going, then."

"That's probably best."

He hesitated, trying to find the right words to say. When they didn't come to him, he sighed and took his leave.

 


	10. Fire

_Research Journal 12_

 

_Day 283_

_Number Seven is missing._

_I've had every testificate in the lab on the lookout for him—and gotten dragged in front of Xephos for it more than once—but nobody's found him. Xephos even went down to village to ask Number Six if he'd seen anything, but of course he hasn't, because he's been up to his eyes in ale ever since we set him loose. Honeydew says he hasn't seen Number Seven, either, althogh I'm not sure he'd know the difference anyway._

_In some aspects, it bodes well—Number Seven was at least able to get himself out of the tank without killing himself (so much for that alarm system), but it's impossible to know what happened to him after that. There's a possibility that somebody let him out, but since nobody's come forward and said anything, I have to assume that he got out on his own. Besides, whoever let him out would have to know where he'd gone, and the reward's nothing to sniff at, either. _

_At any rate, some data has come through from the testificate testing that should make Number Eight go pretty painlessly. Some of the people up on 4 have been working with nanites, and we've had some luck with getting them to arrange the brain structure for us, instead of having to construct it cell-by-cell as the clone grows. Should enable us to relay at-death brain info to a blank, pre-construtced clone, eliminating memory gaps. Required population of nanites in the active version of the subject, but I've had them in for three days now and haven't noticed any side-effects. _

_We'll know how well the system handles human brains when Number Eight hatches._

* * *

 

Lalna folded his arms and scowled.

"Don't look at me like that," he admonished. "It's got to be done."

"No," Xephos said. "No, it hasn't."

"He hasn't _eaten_ in two weeks. He's gonna _starve."_

"He hasn't yet, he's not going to." He spread his hands. "Whatever's keeping him alive, it's doing a damn good job of it, and I'm not breaking containment for anything. Not while he's conscious. Which is _another_ thing—does he even sleep?"

Lalna shrugged. "Sometimes. I've never been sure if he actually _needs_ to or if he just likes it."

"Could we knock him out with something? Some gaseous agent that could get through the field?"

"Why?"

"So we can get a goddamn _sample,_ or something. And you can leave him a snack and a pillow if your conscience demands it." He wrinkled his nose. "It would be best if we could work up some kind of restraint that could hold him so we could get him down to the biology labs. And get him out of that damn room so we can seal it off for good."

Lalna snorted. "Yeah, good luck with _that."_

"Do you know what it _is_ about the forcefield that he can't get through? Intense electromagnetism, high-frequency particle oscillations, what?"

"How in the hell should I know? It's not like we can test it."

"All we need is an enderman. The only thing I'm concerned about is him doing that enderman-thing."

"Void-skipping."

"What?"

Lalna sighed and scratched his ear. "It's called _void-skipping,_ and there are plenty of things that aren't endermen that can do it."

"Really?" Xephos asked, a glint in his eye. "Like what?"

"Like Rythian. It's not important. Look, why can't you just knock him out once, get all your samples, run all your tests, and then just— _fix_ him?"

"If it were something physical, I would," Xephos answered. "But since it's in his head, it's going to be a lot more difficult to get rid of, and require a lot more testing. A lot more hands-on testing. Experimentation."

The word pricked at him like barbed wire. "You're not _experimenting_ on him."

"Who said anything about experimenting on him? I mean experimentation with _treatments._ Calm down, Lalna."

He sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. "It's been a long week," he muttered.

"I know. But I need you to focus on the task at hand."

"Right," he sighed, and folded his hands in his lap. His gaze got stuck on his knuckles. He must have washed his hands a thousand times, but he would swear they were still blotchy with blood. He ran his thumb over the back of the opposite hand. Three of his fingernails were still growing back in from where they'd ripped off in the scuffle. There were some things even a potion couldn't fix instantly.

He could still see phantom bruises on his wrists, too, could still feel the ache of concussion in the back of his head whenever he stopped to think about it, the tarry revulsion of betrayal, and he could almost, _almost_ see the face looming over him, indistinct and cruel and _familiar—_

"—Lalna?"

His head snapped up as he realized Xephos had been talking to him.

"Wha—sorry, what?"

Xephos was frowning, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, just sort of—zoned out for a second there. Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you'd like to pick up the containment project. You have the most experience with the equipment, and impeccable experimental design, which is more than I can say for any of the testificates. But I understand if you don't want to take anything else onto your plate at the moment."

Lalna scrubbed at his eyes and groaned. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Not like I've got to deal with any business in town anymore, and Number Eight won't be up and running for at least a week."

"What about Number Seven?"

"What _about_ Number Seven? Odds are, he's gone the way of Five and jumped off a roof or something." Lalna winced and bit his lip.

Xephos's expression had gone cold and calculating. "You think Five killed itself."

"Er, yeah, I guess."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Just an intuition, I guess."

"I've never known you to trust your intuition very far. There must be _something_ more concrete than that."

Lalna sighed. "Look, the walkways around the cryotheum vats are rubber-coated. You don't slip on them. And even if you do, you couldn't—or at least _I_ couldn't—fit through the gaps in the railing, and it's much too high to just _fall_ over." He chewed his lip for a moment, eyes averted. "He didn't fall in by accident. He either jumped, or he was pushed."

"Why didn't you mention this to me before?"

He blew out a breath through his lips. "Christ, Xeph, 'cause you _already_ thought I'd killed him!"

"But somebody else might have."

"Yeah, so?"

"It _did_ look exactly like you."

Lalna's heart stopped beating, and his skin prickled.

"You think—you think someone tried to _murder_ me?" he croaked.

Xephos shrugged. "That, or someone killed a clone for no discernible reason. Or, Number Five killed _itself,_ also for some unknown reason."

Swallowing, Lalna looked back down at his hands.

"Or maybe not so unknown," Xephos murmured. "Lalna, if there's anything I can—"

"I'm not gonna jump into a bloody vat of cryotheum, all right?" Lalna snapped, glowering at him. "It's not like that. I feel like hell about it, but not _that_ bad, not _nearly_ that bad."

Compassion drew lines of age into Xephos's face. "About Rythian?" he asked.

Lalna threw up his hands. "It doesn't matter. The point is—"

"About Number Four."

His blood went cold, and his hands started to ache right down to the bones.

"Five didn't know about Number Four," he said, his voice strained.

"But you do. Eight will."

Lalna shuddered. "Don't remind me. And anyway, like I said, it's not _that_ bad."

Xephos nodded. "So we'll function under the assumption that someone pushed Number Five into that vat."

"Yeah, but _who?_ And _why?_ Why kill a clone?" His stomach churned. "I mean, why would someone _else_ kill a clone."

"Or you," Xephos added. "They might've thought it was you."

"Fucking hell, Xeph, who would want to kill _me?"_

"I've no idea. I'm just putting forth likely scenarios. I've got no clue as to motive."

"Knew we should've put cameras in there," Lalna grumbled, propping his forearms on Xephos's desk.

"Yes," Xephos mused. "But then, we couldn't have predicted this."

"Guess not," Lalna agreed. "So now what?"

"Make sure no one murders you when you're not looking," Xephos answered, a lilt to his voice. "And I'll have the testificates keep looking for Number Seven." He tapped a finger against his lips. "And, I think, I'll pop down to the village and have a chat with Number Six. I might be able to pick up on an abnormality or two."

"That I couldn't?"

"You've never met Six. And you never will, because the whole thing would fall apart." He reached over his desk and put a hand on Lalna's arm. "I'll handle this. You just work on containment testing, and make sure Number Eight comes out all right."

"And the reactor. Don't forget the reactor."

"Ah, of course. Equally important, if not more so."

"And Rythian."

Xephos's face darkened, and he removed his hand from Lalna's arm.

"Yes," he said. "About Rythian."

Thorns grew around Lalna's heart. "What about Rythian?"

His eyes darted, and he smoothed his hair back. "I don't think you should see him anymore."

"Like _hell_ I shouldn't!" Lalna snarled.

"Yes yes, I know, but just _listen_ to me. He's given up trying to break out by brute force, which means he's going to move on to being sneaky."

"You think he'll trick me into letting him out."

"He is a phenomenal liar."

"He's not. I'm not _stupid,_ Xeph."

"But you _are_ compromised. As things stand, I simply can't allow you to—"

"To _what,_ exactly? Get us all killed by thinkin' with my dick?"

Xephos's lip curled. "You have a great deal of compassion for Rythian. Moreover, you are desperate for his trust and forgiveness. He will offer you both, and more, and I can't be sure you won't take him up on it."

 _"I_ can!"

"Lalna."

"You won't keep me from seeing him. I'll break in if I have to." His fists clenched. "I'll break _you_ if you make me."

His jaw clenched. "I am getting immensely tired of these threats, Lalna. Let me ask you this: under what conditions would you let Rythian out?"

Lalna forced himself to think, though his hands were itching to close around Xephos's throat.

"If I could be sure he was himself again," he said.

"And how would you be sure?"

He shrugged. "I'd just know."

"Be specific, Lalna."

His belly was full of thrashing snakes, his blood simmering. "He'd forgive me," he said, through gritted teeth, "and he'd apologize."

"I wonder if Rythian knows that those are the conditions of his release," Xephos said. "I wonder how long it would take him to wring it out of you."

"He _wouldn't,"_ Lalna snapped, bringing his fist down on the arm of his chair. "He wouldn't lie to me."

Xephos's mouth pulled into a wry smile. "I'm sure he wouldn't. But you _keep_ forgetting, Lalna: this isn't Rythian. But I have to assume it knows everything he knows, and that it's willing to use all of it against us. I can't let you see him anymore, Lalna."

He glared. The skin of his palms was crawling.

"You don't trust me," he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

Xephos closed his eyes and sighed. "Not with this, Lalna. Not where Rythian is involved. I'll still defer to you on what is and isn't acceptable testing procedure, but it's too dangerous to let you have direct contact with him."

"I'm staying on the monitors," Lalna declared.

He raised a hand in a gesture of concession. "Of course. Your observations will be invaluable."

Lalna stood, making his chair squeal on the tiled floor.

"Fine," he said. "But if you hurt him—"

"Yes, yes, I'll fill in the blanks myself. Goodbye, Lalna. I'll see you at the monitors this evening."

He nodded once, grinding his teeth, and let himself out of Xephos's office.

* * *

 

Silence coated YogLabs like a fine layer of dust, piled in the dark corners and worn thin in the centers of the busier hallways. Lalna's footsteps disturbed it, kicked it up in puffs to let it settle again in his wake. It was thinnest around the basement door, swept away by the low hum of the forcefield and the insect-whispers of the Flux.

Lalna pushed the door open an inch at a time, scarcely daring to breathe. He stepped inside and his shoes squelched on the purple tendrils underfoot. Wincing, he pushed the door to, holding the handle down so that it wouldn't click as it shut. He turned, heart in his throat, and looked to the glowing blue cube.

It contained the only clean square of floor in the room, an island of white in the sea of purple. Rythian was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, his legs stretched up against the wall. His breathing was slow and deep. There was blood on his hands.

"Ryth?" Lalna croaked.

Rythian stirred. "I was wondering how long it would take you," he said, his fingers making little aborted gestures against the floor.

"Take me to do what?"

Between the mask over his mouth and the arm draped over his eyes, it was impossible to see any expression on his face.

"Come back to me."

Something warm swirled under Lalna's lungs and made his breath catch. He swallowed the feeling down and licked his lips.

"The cameras are Fluxed over," he said. "I just came in to clear them."

"I never knew you were one for voyeurism," Rythian remarked, amused.

A sheet of warmth flowed out under his skin. "Oh, shut up," he scolded.

Rythian waved a graceful, long-fingered hand. "If you want. I would hate to distract you from your important voyeur business."

He hesitated. His heart was thudding against the inside of his ribs, his whole body thrumming like a plucked string. He took a step forward.

"I . . . wanted to see you," he said at last.

"That's what the cameras are for, silly," Rythian told him.

He took another step. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Incredible."

"What is?"

"Xephos was wrong. He said you'd lost interest in me."

"He said _what?"_

"Oh yes. I almost believed him." His chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh, and he waggled his feet. "But here you are. And wanting to talk to me, too."

His feet were carrying him closer, one careful, squelching step at a time, and it was becoming clearer with each step how poorly Rythian was—he was thinner, paler, somehow dimmed. This close, Lalna could see his hands trembling as he conducted himself through the conversation.

"You're not well," Lalna murmured. He labored to breathe past the weight crushing down on his chest.

"That's what they tell me," Rythian chimed.

"This isn't right. Christ sake, he's _starving_ you."

"Food isn't real where I'm from."

Lalna kicked the forcefield in frustration. "It's not a _joke,_ Ryth, you're _dying!"_

"Good."

The world drained out around him, filling his ears with a roaring silence, leaving no air for him to breathe. There was only the field, warm and buzzing under his hands, and Rythian, lying still and weak and quiet and _dying._

 _"Good?"_ he whispered.

Rythian sighed. He unfolded the arm from over his eyes, and pain was written so deeply on his face that it was scratching the bone. His eyes had lost their luminescence, had gone flat and colorless and bleak.

"Good," he repeated. "I'm tired, Lalna. I'm tired and broken and lonely, and I want to be _done."_

"No you don't," Lalna snapped. "No, you fucking _don't._ Don't even say that."

The listless eyes rolled over to regard him. There was nothing in them but pain.

"This is no way to live. This is a half life at best. I have nothing. I never will."

"You will, though. You _do._ You've got me. You've always got me, you always will have. I would never leave you, you _know_ I would never leave you. Especially not here."

"But you have," Rythian said, and he sounded utterly resigned. "It was bad enough, before. Now I don't even have you." He laughed, a dry, painful sound. "And I'm forgetting. The touch of your hands, the taste of your lips—"

A chill ran down Lalna's spine, and something hot and hungry stirred in his belly and pawed at him.

"I miss you, Lalna," Rythian murmured, the ache of longing in his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut and shivered out a sigh. His hand gripped his own belt. "I need you."

"I'm here," he said. His fingers were pressing against the field so hard they were turning white. "I'm not leaving you."

Rythian shook his head. "You don't have to lie to me, Lalna. You know as well as I do that I'm never getting out of here. That I'll never get to touch you again, never spend the night in your arms." He shifted against the floor, a motion simultaneously vulnerable and sinuous. "I wish I had given myself to you when I had the chance."

"Stop it," Lalna choked. "Stop talking like that." His blood was on fire, his body wound too tight.

"I'm sorry," Rythian murmured. "It must hurt you, too. But there will be others to love you, Lalna. Hanging on to me will only hurt you more."

"Shut _up,"_ he snapped. "I swear to God, Rythian, I'm going to get you out of here if it _kills_ me, and then I'm going to take you home and fuck you _numb,_ because you are _mine_ and I am not going to let anything happen to you."

Rythian laughed again, sandpaper on his raw nerves. "Oh, love," he sighed. "I know you would."

"I _will."_

"I wish I could believe you, Lalna. But I know Xephos well enough to know that it won't happen. He is never going to let me out. I am his caged bird, and I'm sure I will sing very pretty before I die."

"Shut _up!"_ Lalna snarled, pounding a fist against the forcefield. "I don't _give_ a fuck what Xephos says or does, _you are mine,_ and I'll kill him if that's what it takes to bring you home safe."

"My knight in shining armor," Rythian murmured, his voice vague and distant. "It's all right. I know you never meant for this to happen. I forgive you."

Something struck a sour chord in the trembling core of him, and he took a step back. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he fought to get his breathing under control.

"You're lying," he croaked. "Just like he said you would. You're _lying_ to me."

The sandpaper laugh rang out again, sharper and harsher than before.

"He would tell you anything to keep me from you," Rythian said, but the resignation suddenly sounded insincere.

"You're _using_ me," Lalna accused, the fire in his blood turning to something vicious, something born more of hurt than of need. "You're trying to _use_ me!"

Rythian sighed and draped his arm back over his eyes. "And just when I was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope. You can go, Lalna. Go and forget about me, as you're meant to."

 _"Fuck_ you," Lalna spat, and stormed from the room.

 


	11. Captive

_Log 11_

_Lalna thinks he's so bloody clever._

_I should rather say, all the Lalnas think they're so bloody clever, because I don't mind so much when it's only one of them I have to deal with. When it's three, I begin to fantasize about large vats of cryotheum in unmonitored rooms. _

_Lalna Mark One has been talking to Rythian, and it's only by sheer luck that we're not all dead. Just in case, I've rewired the field generator so that the main switch no longer controls it—I have the only key, as it were, and I'm keeping it on me at all times. Until Lalna tries to let Rythian out, he'll be none the wiser. Afterwards, I'll just have to be careful and quick._

_Lalna Mark Six is just as obsessed, and it's taking a toll on the local testificate population. I've tried to talk sense into him, but his brain is so heavily marinated that it's like trying to write on water. Minty's banned him from the Captive Creeper, which ought to have done something, but evidently he's clever enough to have started brewing his own—a task that must require very little brain power. I'm not certain he's actually  killed any of the testificates yet, but it's honestly only a matter of time. _

_Lalna Mark Seven is an insufferable bastard and I am going to strangle him before the end of the week. He is absolutely convinced that he's sitting at the center of a vast and vague conspiracy, which would be an academically curious manifestation of psychosis if I didn't have to  deal with it every goddamn day. I'd kill for a single word of variation, but it's always exactly the same, and nothing I say gets through to him. The only bright side of all this is that it gives me concise undesirable facets of personality to work with. Once the nanite system is proven to work and we can replicate a mind exactly, I'll start experimentation. _

_I could certainly use the practice before I get my hands into Rythian's brain. Much as he's made himself a thorn in my side, I'd still prefer to keep him alive and mainly whole, if possible._

_He is making it very, very difficult for me._

_End Log 11_

* * *

 

The look on Rythian's face made Xephos want to slap it clean off.

"You should have seen him," he gloated. "He was _drooling._ It was incredible."

"It may surprise you to know this, but I don't find your facetious manipulation of my friends to be amusing." His shoes clicked on the marble floor, which still bore the scars of Flux, and all the tools that had come to scrape it off.

"Hardly facetious," Rythian replied. "You're just angry because I almost got him."

"I am _angry,"_ Xephos said, glowering, "because he loves and trusts you, and you are taking egregious advantage of that fact."

"Are we talking about me or you right now?"

Not for the first time, Xephos wished he had a very long stick with a lot of nails in the end of it. He ground his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose.

"You must think you're very clever."

"You must think it's somehow different just because you aren't offering him sex," Rythian replied. Xephos's stomach turned. "A lie is a lie, Isra—"

_"Shut up!"_

The words ripped out of him, tearing at his throat and rattling against his teeth, dragging a wave of the cold rage up into his chest. He stood trembling, staring down Rythian with a hand on his sword, the threat of violence pulling at him like a swift river current.

"Shut up," he growled. "And don't _ever_ call me that name again."

Rythian's eyes crinkled into crescent moons. "Or what?"

"Or I will shrink that box so small that it hurts you to _breathe,"_ Xephos said.

"And then?" he asked.

Xephos blinked at him. "What d'you mean, _and then?_ And then you live in misery until I get what I want."

"How very childish of you." He stretched and flopped over onto his back. "Misery is not a new experience for me, Israphel. It doesn't concern me much."

He bristled, the cold prickling at his insides.

 _It would be easy,_ a distant part of his brain whispered.

 _I am not going to kill him,_ he retorted internally.

_You could crush him to death. Slowly. See how long he calls you that name when his ribs are puncturing his lungs._

_I am **not** going to kill him, _ Xephos repeated.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rythian, I am trying to be polite and courteous. So far I haven't hurt you, _no matter_ how tempting it's been, upon occasion."

"If you're here to ask for my cooperation again, the answer is still no." He held up a hand and examined it. "But you could send Honeydew and let him try."

"No."

"Afraid I'll tell him the truth?"

The blood drained from Xephos's face. "How did you—" He pulled up short, realizing that, even if Rythian hadn't known before, he did now.

Rythian was grinning under his mask. "And you call _me_ a monster."

"I have never called you that," he said, stiffly.

"Not to my face," he allowed. "But you've said it. Or at least thought it. Everyone has."

"You are so _immensely_ full of yourself."

"I know what I am. There's a difference."

"And you think you're a monster."

Rythian propped himself up on his elbows and looked at him, and even the dull, flat eyes sent tingles down Xephos's spine.

"Oh yes," Rythian murmured.

"Funny. You look like an underfed, overconfident blowhard to me."

"You've seen it." His voice had a low, hypnotic quality, dripping honey-smooth into Xephos's head. "The thing underneath the mask."

"I haven't," he declared, folding his arms.

Rythian chuckled. "Not that mask. The big one. The soft, fragile, human one. You saw what was underneath and you _ran."_

Vague, distorted memories flashed through Xephos's head—Rythian's body torn apart, a black and hideous monstrosity clawing up from the ruins, the frantic and unreasoning fear that poured from the creature's flesh.

He found himself shaking. Things were moving under Rythian's skin.

"Would you like to see it again?" he inquired, his voice more a suggestion than a sound.

Xephos pulled a face and folded his arms, concealing the trembling of his hands.

"No," he declared. "Why in the _hell_ would I want to see that again?"

Rythian stared at him for so long that Xephos wondered if he hadn't just died. Finally, he lay back down and clasped his hands over his stomach.

"For a moment there," he murmured, "you almost looked like Xephos."

"I—what?"

He shook his head. Xephos watched him, noting the pace of his breathing, the scabs on his knuckles and the ragged edges of his fingernails.

Xephos sat on the floor and crossed his legs.

"So you acknowledge that there's a difference," he said. "Between me and . . . him."

"Yes," Rythian said. "There's a difference between you and Xephos."

He ground his teeth. "Rythian, I'm not trying to hurt anyone."

"You're doing it anyway."

"You've got to understand—if you could erase the thing under the mask, could live in blissful ignorance of the monster underneath—you can't tell me you wouldn't do it. I don't _want_ to be this. I can't let it happen again."

Rythian's voice was soft and implacable.

"Let me out," he murmured, "and I will make absolutely sure that it doesn't."

Xephos stared at him.

"You'd kill me."

"Yes."

"You know, that doesn't _actually_ make me want to let you out."

He shrugged. "When your plan fails, mine will still be there. When you fall on your sword, I will be there to finish what you started."

"That won't be necessary," he snapped. His hand had found its way back to the hilt of his sword.

"It will," Rythian answered. "You don't get to stop being a monster. Ignoring it doesn't make it go away."

"And you would know?"

"Yes."

Silence drifted down between them. Xephos got to his feet and brushed off his trousers.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"Of course," Rythian replied. "Right up until you cut it out of yourself."

"Yes, thank you, that's not what I was talking about."

"Oh?" said Rythian, raising an eyebrow. "What were you talking about, then?"

"That you wanted to stop being what you are. I'll see what I can do."

Rythian sat bolt upright, his fists clenching. "Stay out of my head," he hissed.

"Stay out of Lalna's," Xephos responded, and headed for the door.

"That's hilarious, coming from you."

"He tried to sell you to me."

This time the silence came down like a hammer, smashing the sound out of the air with such force that Xephos wondered if he hadn't been struck deaf. He turned, slowly, to see Rythian on his feet, the violet light back in his eyes.

"One Rythian, on a silver platter," Xephos murmured, "for the low, low price of letting him keep his mind intact."

"Liar," Rythian hissed.

"If you like," he allowed. "Of course, I doubt he would have actually _done_ it, considering his penchant for weaseling out of things, but he made the offer. I thought that might be relevant to your interests."

"Killing you will be a pleasure."

"I'm sure. I wonder, Rythian, what you'll offer me for the sake of keeping your mind?"

"What did Honeydew offer?"

All the malice dropped off of him like shattered armor, leaving a twisting guilt in his stomach. Xephos turned on his heel and left, his lips pinched tight together and his hands shaking.

* * *

 

The Captive Creeper was empty, the chairs stacked atop the tables and the floor slick from being mopped. Minty stood behind the bar, setting glasses back into their places. Xephos let the door click closed behind him. Minty turned, just a hair too quickly. She did not relax when she saw him.

"We're closed," she said. "You can tell by how the sign on the door says _closed."_

"Yes, I—I had actually worked that one out," he said. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you terribly."

"Not by just standing there, no." She went back to stacking up glasses, although she watched him from the corner of her eye.

"I was wondering if I might talk to you."

"Astoundingly, you already are." She sighed and moved on to the next shelf of glasses. "About what?"

He edged forward, wary of slipping on the damp floor.

"Lalna."

"Oh, wonderful, I was hoping you might say that. I've got some questions of my own on the subject."

"Ah. Such as?"

"What the hell have you done to him?"

"Well. I don't suppose you'll let me get away with saying _nothing."_

"You're right, I won't."

"He's . . . been through some difficulties, recently. I had to let him go from the labs."

"Mm-hm?"

"Er, yes. He had a bit of a . . . well, I suppose the technical term for it would be a psychotic break. Rythian hurt him quite badly, and I suppose he . . . snapped. Under the strain."

"Which is why you've got Rythian in a box and are feeding Lalna exclusively on a diet of lies?"

He flinched. He was halfway to the bar. Minty was slamming the glasses into place with more force than was advisable when working with a febrile material.

"And quite a bit of medication," Xephos objected. "It's for the best. He tried to kill me, you know."

"Did he? And you thought it was prudent to let him loose?"

"He got better."

"I'm not sure he did. I don't know if you'd noticed, being locked in your white tower and all, but there are significantly fewer testificates about than there used to be."

"That . . . had not escaped my attention, no."

"So take him back."

He was three paces from the bar. His hands were sweating, fingers twitching, eyes darting side to side.

"That's . . . a fair point, actually." His hand snuck into his pocket—only two paces away—

Minty turned and glared at him. One of her hands dipped absently below the bar while she rested her other elbow on the polished wood.

"What do you want, Xephos?" she asked.

"I—I wanted to talk—"

"Bollocks," she declared. "What do you _really_ want?"

He sighed, shoulders slumping, and shuffled the rest of the way to the bar. Something underneath it creaked. He placed one hand on it, slipped the other into his pocket, and pretended not to notice.

"I . . . wanted to make sure you were all right," he admitted. "There's been so much going on, so much upheaval and turmoil and . . . and ridiculousness. No one is really all right." He smiled tightly and gestured to her hand, hidden beneath the bar. "Violence seems prevalent."

Minty didn't budge an inch. "Shocking," she intoned. "What do you _want?"_

His jaw clenched, his hand tightened in his pocket. A cold breath stirred in his chest and he fought it down.

"I'm here to ask you to come back to YogLabs with me. Just for a brief observational period and a few simple tests. You'd be done by opening time tomorrow. We just want to make sure that no one else is going to get hurt."

"No."

"May I ask why not?"

"Because I am never, _never_ meeting anyone on their terms again. All meetings happen on my terms, or not at all. I will _not_ be anybody else's damsel in distress."

He spread his hands. "Which is perfectly understandable. I assure you, it's nothing invasive, this isn't a kidnapping, it's the same testing I've done to myself, and Lalna, and Rythian. To Honeydew, too. Everyone who was . . . there. When it all happened. I just want to make sure you're all right, that's all."

"I'm all right," she assured him. "Now if you don't mind, we're closed."

"Minty—"

"I said _no,"_ she snapped, eyes narrowing. "Now _leave."_

He sighed and let his hands drop to his sides. "Of course. Well, thank you anyway, I'll leave you to it, I suppose."

"Goodbye," Minty prompted.

Xephos half-turned, then paused.

"I know what you must think of me," he murmured. "Why you don't trust me."

"Because I've known you for less than a year?" she asked, impertinent.

"You know that's not it."

"Get over yourself. And get out of my bar."

"Minty, whatever . . . _happened,_ to make me into that thing, I promise you, it hasn't happened yet."

"You want to know something, Xephos? I think you're absolutely full of shit."

Taken aback, he gaped at her. "I—excuse me?"

She waved a hand. "You're off on this stupid head-trip about secretly being Israphel, somehow, and I think you're full of it. I _knew_ him. I lived for _months_ with him. I think I would recognize him if I saw him again, and as of yet, I _haven't._ So get over yourself, and get _out_ of my bar. We're closed."

"Minty. . . ." he croaked. She twirled, returning her attention to tidying up.

His hands were heavy, but steady, as he reached over the bar and jabbed the syringe from his pocket into her shoulder. She whipped around like a feral cat, lurching for whatever was under the bar, but he already had her by the shoulder and his arms were a good deal longer than hers.

"I'm sorry, Minty," he said, while the fight seeped out of her and her eyes lost focus. "I really am sorry."

* * *

 

The first thing Minty did when she regained consciousness was start crying. It was ugly, and pitiful, and messy, and Xephos managed about three minutes before he tried to wipe her nose for her.

She bit his hand hard enough to draw blood and then went right on crying. He changed gloves and hooked the electrode cap up to her head.

"It won't hurt," he mentioned, as though it would help. Minty either didn't hear him or pretended she hadn't.

The crying went on for a good ten minutes, and then dried up like a puddle in the desert. She lay still, staring up at the ceiling while the blotches faded from her face and salt crystallized on her skin.

"Why," she said.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach and stared at his feet.

"Because I . . . because I can't. Can't live with this. Can't live with me."

"Kill yourself," she suggested. "Save a lot of trouble."

Xephos shivered and squeezed himself.

"I . . . wanted to. At first. I tried. Sort of. But I—Minty, I'm a coward. I always have been, just . . . usually I don't have the option to show it." He shook his head. "Can't live with it, can't die for it either. I haven't got very many options."

"So you pick _this?"_

"I haven't got many options," he said again. "It doesn't hurt. It hasn't hurt anyone. Not Honeydew, not Lalna—"

"I think it has."

"All right, but that's . . . not really Lalna. It's complicated."

She shook her head. "I still don't believe you."

"You . . . you don't? I mean, about . . . me being—"

"Yes. You're not him. You're just mad."

"I _know_ what I saw. I can't explain it, I just—I just _know._ And every time I look in the mirror—"

"Get a new mirror."

His hands tightened on his lab coat. "You don't have to coddle me. I've made up my mind. I've heard every promise, threat, and lie, and I—"

"You're going to do whatever you've made up your mind to do. I understand. I'm telling you that you don't have to, because you're not what you think you are. But if you've made up your mind, then I don't suppose there's much point in my saying anything."

He said nothing, and she replied in kind. Eventually he sighed and turned to the computer.

"I'm starting the download," he told her.

"Don't care," she replied.

His jaw clenched. "Just thought you might like to know what was happening."

He flipped the switch, and the banks of computers began to whir.

"I know what's happening," Minty said. "I watched Peculier lose his mind, too."

Xephos stared at his shoes, nausea coiling in the bottom of his stomach.

"This . . . will take several hours. Would you . . . would you like me to go?"

"No," she said. "I'd rather you stayed."

"Prefer that I give the guilt time to sink in?"

A smile twitched at her lips, and a pair of tears slid out of the corners of her eyes.

"I don't want to be alone," she answered.

Xephos swallowed down his apologies, lowered himself into his chair, and buried his face in his ruinous, traitorous, monstrous hands.

 


	12. Recollection

_Dear Diary,_

_shit's fucked_

* * *

 

"Oy," said Honeydew, stepping into Xephos's office. "We need to talk."

Xephos had his hands splayed on his desk and was staring at them. It took him a good three seconds to respond to Honeydew's voice. He blinked and looked up, frowning.

"What?" he said. He was waxen, disheveled, red around the eyes. "Oh, Honeydew. Sorry, I . . . didn't hear you come in."

"Here, what's happened to you, then?" Honeydew asked, folding his arms.

"Nothing," Xephos said, hiding his hands under his desk. "It's nothing. Was there something you needed?"

"Yeah, actually," he replied. "Wanted to ask why it is you think you've got to lie to me."

Xephos stared at him blankly. "Sorry?" he said.

"I know about the clonin' shit," Honeydew said. "And I know you didn't want me to, and it's got me thinkin', you know, what the hell else you're not tellin' me."

"Oh," said Xephos. "That. Did Lalna tell you?"

"Maybe I figured it out on my own, ever think of that?"

Xephos glanced at the corner of the room. "Er, no, actually."

"Yeah, well," Honeydew grumbled, crossing to Xephos's desk and plonking himself into the chair. "I didn't, so, y'know, no harm done. Still. You could've told me."

"I. . . ." Xephos began, and hung his head. "I didn't think you'd . . . approve."

"Yeah? And you thought I'd be just pleased as punch about bein' lied to, did you?"

"N-no, I didn't think—"

"God damn right you didn't. What were you expectin', huh? Oh, Honeydew, he's a fuckin' idiot, he'll never figure it out, har har, he's too stupid to have feelings."

"It's not _like_ that."

"Isn't it? 'Cause that's what it damn well _feels_ like! And that's a best-goddamn-case scenario, 'cause the _other_ option, courtesy of Lalna, is that you plain don't trust me."

"Honeydew, just let me—"

"Let you _explain?_ I've had about enough of your explainin', spaceman, seein' as every word comes out of your mouth piles up on the stack of fuckin' lies you've been buryin' me under."

_"Honeydew."_

"Don't you _Honeydew_ me, Xephos, you ain't shuttin' me up again. You're gonna sit there and take it, 'cause if you're gonna treat me like shit, you're damn well gonna know how I feel about it!"

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a quiver in his lip.

"Don't give me that wobbly-lip bollocks, I ain't feelin' sorry for you. This's _your_ mess, and _you're_ bloody well gonna clean it up. I've put up with your shit for _months_ now, not a word of complaint, been pushed off to the side and lied to and ignored and kept in the fuckin' dark, and I've had _enough._ If you don't want me around, _fine,_ just bloody well _say_ so and I'll pack my shit and go, not like I haven't got better things to do than hang around here gettin' shit on. You want to run your mad laboratory with your fucked-up experiments that you're so scared I won't _approve_ of—which I fuckin' _don't,_ by the way—then I'll get out of your way and you and Lalna can skip merrily on to hell together. I ain't gonna be part of it anymore, and I _definitely_ ain't gonna be here when it comes time to let Rythian outta that box, which, by the fuckin' way, he should _never_ have ended up in, and I haven't got a fuckin' clue why you've got him in there anyway 'cause all you've ever told me are lies, and Jesus _Christ,_ Xeph, if that's how you treat your friends, I'm goddamn glad I ain't one of 'em anymore!"

Xephos crumbled. His arms curled around his middle, he bent forward until his head nearly touched his desk, a small and broken noise slipped out between his lips. His whole face was pinched and creased by pain, and he was shaking.

All the words fell out of Honeydew's head, and he tasted ash. He reached out a hand towards Xephos, hesitated, and drew back. A pair of tears slipped from the corners of Xephos's eyes and crawled down his cheeks. Cold hands closed around Honeydew's heart and a pit opened in his stomach.

He got to his feet and rounded the desk, then wrapped his arms around as much of Xephos as he could reach. Xephos sobbed.

"'S all right," Honeydew muttered gruffly, squeezing him. Xephos slid out of his chair and onto his knees, and rested his forehead on Honeydew's shoulder. Honeydew adjusted his grip and patted him on the back. The trembling must have been contagious, because Honeydew's knees felt weak and his hands were unsteady.

"It's all—gone wrong," Xephos hiccuped, digging his fingers into his own sides. "It's all—gone— _wrong."_

"Yeah," Honeydew admitted. "'S a bit fucked. We'll fix it."

Xephos shook his head and made a miserable noise. "I'm—I'm. . . ." He dissolved into sobbing again.

Squeezing him again, Honeydew swallowed down the lump in his throat, hoping it might plug the hole that had opened up inside him.

"Look, I . . . I might've been a bit harsh. I was . . . well, furious, really. I'm just askin' for some honesty. And if something's wrong—and I mean, something's _clearly_ wrong—I want to help. Can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

Another shake of the head.

"You can't," Xephos mumbled. "No one—no one can. Done too much, gone too far, I can't—I can't stop, it's too late. . . ." He took a shuddering breath and whispered, "I think I'm losing my mind."

"Aw, _Christ,_ Xeph," Honeydew choked, and held him as tight as he could.

* * *

 

Eventually, Xephos had ushered him out without any kind of reconciliation or closure, and so Honeydew had fumbled his way to the only place where things made some semblance of sense, and was now sitting on a bar stool nursing his second ale and a mostly-uneaten bacon sandwich.

"All right," Minty said, posting up in front of him. "Talk to me."

Honeydew sighed. "Somethin's really wrong with Xeph," he said.

"Stop the presses," Minty intoned.

"It ain't funny," he snapped, glaring at her.

"It's also not news to anybody."

He shook his head. "He ain't been right ever since the . . . thing. You know."

"I know," she said, darkly.

"Didn't really think much of it at first, don't know _why,_ 'cause he ain't never wandered off before, not a word, just vanished in the middle of the night. Found him near frozen to death under a rock a couple days later. Should've known, then, somethin' was wrong." He scratched his beard and took a sip of ale. "And he still won't tell me anything, not really, but _God,_ Minty, he's all fucked up and I don't think he knows what he's doing."

"I think he does," she said. "I think he knows _exactly_ what he's doing and it's ripping him to shreds."

"Why d'you think that?"

She opened her mouth, and her eyes glazed over. She blinked a couple of times, then said, "I . . . don't know. I just had a—a feeling. I don't even, really, know what it is he's doing." She paused. "I think."

"See, this is the kind of weird shit I'm talking about," Honeydew said, pointing at her. "That? That _keeps_ happening to me. Somebody says something that don't mean anythin', but it feels like it ought to, and there ain't no reason about it."

Minty frowned. "I could've sworn—he came in the other night, but I don't . . . remember what happened after that. But it makes me feel sick." She looked at Honeydew. "D'you think, maybe, that Xephos isn't the only one with something wrong with him?"

"Startin' to seem that way, ain't it," he said.

She shivered, eyes flicking over the room. "I don't like this."

"Yeah, join the fuckin' club. Somethin's gotta be done, before _everyone_ loses their god damn mind."

"But _what?_ If Xephos won't tell you what's happening—"

"And he won't."

"Then, I mean, you can't fix something if you don't know where it's broken. _Someone's_ got to know something. I hate to ask, but have you talked to Lalna?"

He nodded. "He's even worse than Xephos. I mean, Xeph's lost his damn mind, but Lalna's lost his damn mind and he's _angry_ about it. I ain't touchin' that with a ten-foot pole." He scratched his beard. "But I think I might know who to ask."

"Oh, thank goodness, there's _one_ sane person left in this mess."

Honeydew made a face. "I wouldn't say _sane._ But there's got to be a _reason_ they're keepin' Rythian in that box."

* * *

 

It was just after dark, and YogLabs was still bustling. Honeydew poked his head into Xephos's office before going anywhere else—he was seated at his desk, absorbed in paperwork. Honeydew slipped back out without attracting his attention.

He didn't quite remember where Rythian was being kept, so he took a few wrong turns and long detours through the basements. Rounding a corner, he encountered a wall of pale skin and leapt back with a cry.

Lalna likewise started, skipping back a step. He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants, and his hair was soaking wet and plastered to his skull.

Honeydew looked him up and down, doing his best to pretend his guts weren't tying themselves in knots.

"Er," he said, "should I even ask?"

Lalna made a face, looking anywhere but at Honeydew. A slow flush was rising all the way from his hips to his scalp.

"I, er, I wouldn't, probably," he said.

"S'pose it's to do with science."

"Yeah, let's—let's go with that." His head tilted to the side. "Bit late for you to be in, isn't it?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Bit early for you to be walkin' about half-naked," he countered.

Lalna winced. "Yeah, all right, fair enough. Why don't we just—pretend this never happened, yeah?"

"Yes!" Honeydew blurted. He cleared his throat and added, "Er, yeah, that's, uh, fine by me."

"Right, okay, bye," Lalna said, stepping around Honeydew. His bare feet made little _pap pap_ noises on the floor.

Five steps in, the _pap-pap-_ ing went silent.

"Honeydew," Lalna said, an odd note in his voice. "You wouldn't happen to know where Xephos is, would you?"

"Er, in his office, last I saw," Honeydew answered. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," he said. "Thanks anyway."

 _Pap pap pap pap pap,_ fading into the distance, and Lalna was gone.

"This place just keeps gettin' weirder," Honeydew grumbled, and continued on his way.

He knew he had found the right floor when he came out of the stairwell into a completely deserted corridor. His heart started pounding, and he wiped sweating palms on his trousers. He took a deep breath and started down the corridor, his footsteps too loud in the silence.

"'S just Rythian," he muttered to himself, eyes fixed on the last door on the left, where blue light spilled out in a thin sheet along the floor. "He ain't gonna hurt you. Couldn't, even if he wanted to. But he wouldn't want to, 'cause he's Rythian. You'd pitch a fit, too, if you got tricked into a ruddy box. 'S just Rythian."

Honeydew pushed the door open, and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His feet were rooted to the floor, and he could neither move forward nor go back. His knees had gone watery.

"It's. Just. Rythian," he whispered, and pushed himself inside.

Just Rythian was sitting in the corner of his cube, peeling the skin from his arm.

"Jesus _Christ,"_ Honeydew exclaimed. Rythian's head snapped up. His face flicked through expressions like someone was leafing through a book of them. It settled on 'tired.'

"I thought better of him," Rythian said. A bead of blood slid down his arm. "I suppose he isn't above sending you to do his dirty work, after all."

"You're bleeding," he pointed out.

Rythian glanced at his arm. "Yes," he said.

"Are you—I mean clearly you're not all right, but—Jesus, I mean, is there anything I can do?"

Rythian regarded him for three seconds too long.

"Let me out," he said.

"Promise you won't blow up everyone?"

"No explosions," Rythian promised, but there was a cagey note in his voice that made Honeydew continue his questioning.

"Promise you won't _kill_ everyone?"

"Not everyone," he allowed. "Just one person, in fact." He glanced at the ceiling. "Maybe two."

"Xeph and Lalna."

"Those would be them."

"Yeah, um, I'm gonna say no, then."

Rythian shrugged. "It was worth a shot." He went back to picking at the open wound on his arm. "What do you want?"

"Look, could you—could you _not_ do that? It's really . . . freaking me out, like."

"You can leave any time you want," Rythian said.

"I—Rythian, listen, nobody _sent_ me here. All right? I'm here because—because everyone's lost their god damn minds and everything's fucked up and no one will tell me the _truth."_

Rythian froze. It was as though someone had simply turned him off. When he came back to life, he was a different person—shaking hands, darting eyes, and all his movements sharp and disjointed. He scuttled to the side of the box nearest Honeydew and studied him, head to toe, several times over, his bloodied fingers sketching arcane nonsense on the marble floor.

"You're telling the truth," he decided at last, a note of awe in his voice. He squeaked out a laugh and ducked back into the corner. "I'm sorry, it's been so long since I saw it—I forgot what it. . . . What do you need?"

Honeydew's stomach churned. "You too, huh?"

Rythian's eyes gleamed. "Me _too?_ Too? It's all lies, isn't it, floor to ceiling lies for everyone." He shook his head. "Yes. Me too. They're trying to get into my head. I repay the favor, but they don't appreciate it. Less literally, of course, but that doesn't stop them."

"Er, right. I um . . . I'm sorry?"

Another shake of the head. "I'm babbling. You came for the truth. What do you want to know?"

"Are you—" Honeydew stopped himself. There was no telling how long he had before someone else came to check in on Rythian, or at least on the purple splotches that were starting to grow on the walls.

"Right, okay. What the _fuck_ is going on in this place?"

Rythian drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"Xephos has a secret," he said. "An awful, horrible secret that he's trying to get rid of. Only a few people know—him, Lalna, Minty, me. You. But he wants to forget. He wants it never to have happened. He wants to be sure no one ever reminds him. So he's cutting his secret out of people's brains. He did it to you. Maybe to Lalna, too. Minty will be next, and then me, and then he'll do it to himself and he'll think he's solved the problem, but he hasn't. He'll still be what he is. Just no one will know about it."

Honeydew gaped at him. "That . . . that's mad. What in the hell could be that bad, that he has to—to fuck about with other people's brains?"

Eyes darting, Rythian pronounced, "I don't want to tell you, because I don't know what it will do to you."

"What, like it'll blow up my head or something?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what Xephos did to you. Telling you could—hurt you. And I don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah, well, I want to know," Honeydew retorted. "And if it fucks me up, fine, I'd rather be fucked up than keep on walking about not _knowing._ I've had just about enough of that."

Rythian fidgeted for a moment, then darted over to Honeydew's side of the box again and beckoned. After a moment's hesitation, Honeydew crossed to the box and sat down in front of Rythian. This close, he could see that his left arm was mostly scab, that his eyes were sunken into his head and his fingers were little more than skin and bone.

"You can't _ever_ let him find out that you know," Rythian murmured. Even at such close quarters, Honeydew had to strain to hear his voice. "Because he'll just cut it out of your head again. If me telling you doesn't break your mind. Which it might. Are you _sure?"_

 _"Yes,_ I'm goddamn sure," Honeydew said.

"No, are you _sure?_ Are you _sure_ you can do this? Are you _sure_ you want this? Even if—even _if_ it doesn't trigger something in your head, it's—it's the poison that's driving Xephos mad. Are you _sure_ you want to drink?"

Honeydew frowned down at his hands, folded in his lap. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to walk away, to wait for Xephos to fix this like he fixed everything, to hang on through the rough bit and go merrily on when it was all over and Xephos was well again.

And there was the rest of him, which was tired and angry and lost, that _needed_ to know.

He looked up, the answer sharp on his lips, and met Rythian's eyes—and he saw something he'd never seen before.

Rythian was _frightened._

It was in the white that showed all the way around his eyes, the shaking of his hands, the tufts of hair torn from his scalp and the blood on his fingers.

"He'll hurt you," Honeydew realized. "If he finds out you told me. He's that far gone."

Rythian waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. Do you want to know?"

The weight of that responsibility settled over Honeydew like a lead blanket. Certainly, there were things he hadn't told Xephos—little, inconsequential things—but having to keep a secret so terrible that it had driven a kind and loving man to feckless violence, that was something else all together. His legs twitched with the desire to walk away from this, to burrow back into soft ignorance and never come out.

But Rythian was alone, and frightened, and he had no choice but to bear the weight of that truth.

"Tell me," Honeydew said.

Some of the steel-cable tension relaxed from Rythian's spine, and he pressed closer to the humming blue wall of the box.

"Call Xephos," he said.

"What?"

"Call Xephos. So that if something goes wrong, someone will be here to help you. And then I'll tell you."

"I . . . all right." He put a finger to his ear and fiddled about until the little radio caught.

"Er . . . Xeph?"

There was a crackling silence, and then the tinny voice replied, "Honeydew? What's happened, what's wrong?"

"I'm, er . . . I'm with Rythian," he said, and then added, "Er. Help."

He switched the radio off before Xephos could reply and looked to Rythian.

"Israphel was Xephos," Rythian told him, "and Xephos will be Israphel."

Honeydew stared at him.

"That . . . that doesn't make any sense," he stammered. He shoved himself to his feet, his head spinning. "That can't be—I mean, how does that—that _can't_ be true."

But bits and pieces were filtering in—the way his skin sometimes crawled when Xephos touched him, the way he couldn't remember what, exactly, had happened to Israphel, the holes poked into his memory and the feelings left adrift in the void—and his heart fluttered with panic while tears gathered in his eyes.

 _"Why?"_ he demanded.

"What?" said Rythian, his voice distant.

 _"Why?_ Why him, why this? He never _did_ anything, he never _hurt_ nobody, it's not _fair!_ He doesn't—he doesn't _deserve_ it, so _why?_ Why's it got to be this way?"

Rythian was watching him as he paced, his face drawn with pain.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm sorry, Honeydew."

"It's not _fair!"_ he repeated, his voice cracking.

The door burst open, and Xephos stormed in—and there was something terrible in the length of his stride, a vicious promise in the hand that rested upon the hilt of his sword.

The way he looked at Rythian was more alien and fearsome than all the monsters of the world combined.

"What have you _done?"_ he spat, and there was a hiss in his voice that made Honeydew's blood run cold.

Rythian had wrapped himself back in his false persona, and grinned at Xephos.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said.

Xephos put a hand on Honeydew's back and swept him from the room. Honeydew reeled, scarcely able to keep his feet. The world only stopped spinning when Xephos's hands came to rest on his cheeks and bright blue eyes held his gaze.

"Honeydew?" he said, and his voice was his own again, small and worried and soft.

"Oh _God,_ why?" Honeydew cried, and flung himself into his arms.

 


	13. Sense of Self

_Research Journal 12_

 

_Day 290_

_Number Seven finally turned up, and I had to kill it. It had holed up in a little room on B4 and written all over the walls in what I really hope was its own blood. None of it made any sense, of course—mostly just equations and random strings of numbers. Number Seven was quite clearly not-all-there—could barely string a sentense together and didn't seem capabel of actual emotions (and I tried pretty hard to get a variety of reactions from it). Funny thing, though—it must have been capabel enough to get food for itself, because it didn't look like it was starving or anything, even though it didn't really move until I helped it up and dragged it down to the labs. Maybe there was something I missed, but honestly, I couldn't stand to look at the thing any longer. _

_Something about the idea of missing parts of my brain really gets under my skin. It can't have been a pleasant existence, assuming Number Seven was able to destinguish things like pleasure and misery. And that's another thing that messes with me, and I'd much rather not think about it. There wasn't much to be learned from Number Seven, and it was a liability, so I scrapped it and that's the end of that. _

_It wasn't murder. Number Seven wasn't a person. It was not murder.  _

_I swear to God, if Number Eight is insane, I'm going to make Xephos take care of it instead. There's only so many times you can kill yourself before you start to crack._

* * *

 

He awoke to a pair of knees pinning his arms to the bed, and a hand over his mouth, and a knife to his throat. In terror, he stared up at his own face, its eyes fever-bright, its lips pulled thin and taut.

"If you scream," the clone warned, "I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

Lalna nodded. His own weight, sitting upon his chest, was making it difficult to breathe. The hand slipped from his mouth, but there was no other change.

"What are you doing out?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Warning you."

 _"Warning_ me?"

The knife pressed into his skin, and the clone's lip curled.

"Quiet," it snapped. "Yes, _warning_ you, since you've been made completely oblivious to what's going on here."

"Oh, God, you're another of the psychotic ones."

"If I were psychotic, I wouldn't have the presence of mind to be having this conversation, much less holding a knife to your throat. It wasn't _easy_ to get in here."

Lalna frowned. "You know you're a clone," he said.

"The big vat full of green shit was a bit of a giveaway."

"How did you get out?"

"I clicked my heels and wished very hard," the clone said dryly. "Do you want to know what's going on or not?"

He pulled a face. "All right, I'll bite. What _is_ going on here?"

"Erasure," the clone said. "The complete erasure of an inconvenient fact that's driven Xephos to total obsession."

"Yeah? And what fact would that be?"

"Xephos and Israphel are the same person."

Lalna stifled a laugh. "That really _is_ insane."

"He's wiped your memory. Honeydew's, too. Minty's next, and Rythian's after. And Xephos himself goes last."

"You know, we _could_ be having this completely insane conversation like normal people, without you cutting off the circulation to my arms."

The clone shifted its weight, putting more pressure on Lalna's biceps. "No. I trust you about as far as I can throw you, because you've been brainwashed by that maniac and would jump at any chance to shut me up. And you _have_ to listen, because otherwise he's going to get away with it."

"Xephos is."

"Yes."

"With the whole, erasing the 'fact' that he's secretly somehow Israphel."

"Exactly."

Lalna sighed, rolling his eyes. "I have _got_ to fix that bug. You're the third one in a row who's been nuts."

"Six isn't _nuts,_ he's been misled, and you'd be exactly where he is if you'd been given the same start. And remind me, just for shits and giggles, what you did with the clones who were _nuts."_

He shrugged as best as he was able. "Scrapped 'em. They were no good to anybody, anyway."

"And that is _exactly_ why I've got a knife to your throat and my knees in your elbows." Its head tilted to the side, a Rythian-esque gesture that made Lalna's heart skip a beat. "Although there's nothing stopping me from scrapping _you_ and taking your place."

Lalna momentarily forgot how to breathe. The knife was hot against his throat, the tingling in his fingers felt like the first brush of death.

"Xephos would know," he croaked.

"He'd know _one_ of us was dead. Maybe I killed the _psychotic_ clone when it came into my room and tried to murder me."

"You forgot the bit where he'll notice you're completely mad."

"Am I, Lalna?"

"Yes. Yes, you absolutely are."

"You're the one keeping Rythian in a box."

Lalna stiffened. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

"You're a mess. _Nanites,_ idiot. I know everything you do, unless you've done something significant in the last hour. In fact, I know _more_ than you do, because my brain's intact."

"Don't call me an idiot," Lalna said. "And Rythian isn't himself."

"What he _is_ is inconvenient to Xephos. He has to have his memories doctored, but how can Xephos fiddle with his mind when he doesn't even know what he's _made_ of? It's so difficult to control something that isn't human."

"Don't _talk_ about him like that," Lalna snarled.

"Why not? It's how Xephos sees it."

"He is trying to _help."_

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I just have a rather different view of _who_ he's trying to help."

"Rythian isn't well," he pronounced through gritted teeth.

"Nor would you be, if you'd been left alone in a box for weeks on end. It's no wonder he's tearing his own skin off when he hasn't been _touched_ in over a month."

A pang shot through Lalna. "Yeah, well, neither have I, and you don't see _me_ pulling off bits."

"I _know,"_ the clone shot back. "Because up until an hour ago, I _was_ you."

Silence fell between them, their gazes locked. With every beat of Lalna's heart, the knife sent a little sliver of pain through the skin above his jugular. His fingers had gone completely numb, and he could feel the clone's pulse where its bare feet were touching Lalna's hips. It was, Lalna noted, wearing nothing but a pair of Lalna's own sweatpants.

"You stole my clothes," he said.

 _"Our_ clothes," the clone corrected. "Would you prefer I be sitting on your chest in the nude?"

"Yeah, but why'd you have to steal _my_ clothes?"

"I had a hunch they might fit me."

Another silence, and Lalna watched the clone breathe, became aware of the close and intimate heat of its body, the fire wrapped up in madness and violence.

"You can't say you haven't thought about it," the clone said, preempting the remark Lalna had been on the verge of making.

"It would be really, _really_ weird," he replied.

"But an interesting experiment."

"For science, of course."

"Doesn't count if we're the same person."

"No one would know anyway."

The clone leaned forward, vicious and intense. "If you move your arms," it said, "I'll slit your throat."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Lalna intoned.

The clone took its knees off of Lalna's elbows, and his arms filled up with pins and needles. He resisted the temptation to flex his fingers, but soon forgot all about that because the clone had its knees at Lalna's hips and a hand on his cheek and it was so _warm._

"For science," said the clone, and kissed him.

It was, for lack of a better word, bizarre. The clone had no taste but for a faint hint of blood, no smell but a distant whiff of culture fluid. Its lips were thin and firm, its tongue supple, its rhythm disconcerting and perfect.

The clone broke off and locked gazes with him again.

"That was—" Lalna began.

"Bizarre," the clone finished.

They stared at each other for the space of sixteen racing heartbeats.

"Of course for it to be science—"

"Multiple tests for experimental validity—"

"I'll make a data table later, of course."

"Bigger sample size is always better."

The clone cast away the knife and they fell into each other, identical in desperation.

* * *

 

Number Eight was wearing his clothes, and sitting in his office, and eating his biscuits.

"You'd think you'd never been fed before," Lalna remarked.

"Technically," Eight said, scattering crumbs, "I haven't."

"Are you going to eat _all_ of those?"

"Yes." He stuffed another biscuit in his mouth and pushed his hair out of his face.

"Give me that," Lalna snapped, taking the biscuit tin from him. Eight glared and folded his arms, and Lalna put the tin back under his desk. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, and I'll be damned if you're going to do it with a mouth full of biscuits."

Eight swallowed, rolling his eyes. "We've got to start keeping other food in here."

 _"I,"_ he snarled. _"I_ have to start keeping other food in here, because it's _my_ office."

"Christ, have I always been this possessive?"

"Stop talking like we're the same person!"

"Look, I understand that there are differences, I'm only saying that _up until very recently,_ we _were_ the same person, and seeing it from the outside is putting some things into perspective, e.g. how bloody fucking annoying we are."

Lalna ground his teeth, then sighed.

"Bloody fucking annoying sums it up," he said. "Tell me how you got out of your tank."

"You really have a knack for picking up on the _least_ important details, did you know that?"

"I'm picking up on the least _insane_ details, thanks."

Eight shrugged. "Fine, your funeral."

"In what _universe_ is any of this going to get me killed? Even _assuming_ your psychotic delusions are real, which they're not."

"This universe," Eight said, "because when Xephos snaps, you're going to be standing within stabbing range. I don't intend to be."

A wriggling sliver of doubt awoke in Lalna's stomach. Something about the phrase _when Xephos snaps_ was making his jaw ache.

"Look, will you _please_ just tell me how you got out?"

Eight sighed and threw up his hands. "You just don't give up, do you. I put my feet on the glass and my shoulders on the wall and I pushed until the glass broke. _Thinking_ for five seconds could probably have gotten you that answer anyway."

"But you didn't panic," Lalna said. "All the other clones panicked."

"I _know,"_ Eight drawled. "I was _there."_

"So why didn't you?"

"Because I knew I was a clone."

"And that's another thing—how did you know?"

"How do you know you're not one? I just _do."_

"All right, so you woke up, broke out, then what?"

"Then I took a bloody shower," Eight said. "And then I went looking for you."

"Did you do anything else?"

"What, like murder people? I haven't been slandering the family name, calm down. You sound like Four."

"I do _not,"_ Lalna barked, bringing a hand down on his desk. "Don't _talk_ about him."

Eight gave him a knowing, _pitying_ look.

"So Four's still a _him,"_ he murmured. "And the rest of us are _its."_

"Quit observing," Lalna said. "And we're _not_ talking about this."

"About the fact that we murdered someone out of jealousy?"

"It wasn't—you _know_ it wasn't that, you were _there!"_

"I think my memory might be a little clearer than yours, it being un-fucked-around-with. I'm not sure about _you,_ but _I_ killed him because he was talking about Rythian like he was furniture. _His_ furniture. That he was going to go home and fuck."

Lalna bristled. "Don't you _dare—"_

 _"You said it!"_ Eight snarled, shooting to his feet. Lalna nearly fell out of his chair. The look on the clone's face was nothing short of murderous. _"You_ said it, _you_ thought it, _you_ did it. _We are you,_ and everything— _everything—_ that one of us does, _you do it too._ You're not some ideal, you're not _the real one,_ you're _nothing_ that we're not. You don't get to pretend that you're better just because you're not a clone."

"You're _insane,"_ Lalna spat. "And if I hadn't had enough of scrapping you lot I'd—"

"You'd _what?"_ Eight sneered. "Murder me? Here and now? It's funny, because I was thinking the same thing, except that _I_ have the courtesy to believe that you're a _person."_

Lalna's fists clenched. He stood up out of his chair and stared down the clone.

"I'm going to put you in a box," he said, "and take you apart piece by piece until I find out what went wrong."

"I'm sure Xephos will be _thrilled_ about that. Tell him about my _delusions._ Observe _him._ And then observe him killing me as soon as he possibly can. Oh, and when _that's_ done, continue observing while he tortures Rythian into submission."

"Shut up," Lalna hissed. "He wouldn't."

"He is a _monster,"_ Eight retorted, "and he knows it. He tied us down and burned out pieces of our _brain,_ Lalna. It's only a matter of time before he gets worse."

"He did _not,"_ he retorted. "And even _if_ he had, how in the hell would you remember?"

"Fuck if _I_ know. But I do. The bottom line is: are you willing to risk it?"

Lalna was working at keeping his breathing deep and steady. His fists were clenched so hard it was making his arms ache.

"There are two ways this can go," he said. His voice was shaking with suppressed rage. "You can come quietly along to prison, or I can bash your brains out on the floor."

"What makes you so sure I wouldn't be the one doing the bashing?"

"At this point, it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Number Eight stared at him, his jaw working. He was trembling, and his breathing was too deliberate, too steady.

"I want to see him," he said at last.

"No."

"I want to see him, and then I'll come quietly."

"I said _no."_

"Oh, _come_ on. You're going to pick my brains apart, fine, hell with it. _But I'm going to see him first,_ and I'll go through you if I have to."

"Yeah? Try it."

"What are you so afraid of? I can't _do_ anything to him."

"You're not seeing him."

"If you're worried I'll say something you don't like, you can come with me. I don't care. You can gag me if it makes you feel better, but I'm _going_ to see him."

Lalna laughed at him. "Yeah? He'll rip you to shreds."

"And won't that be fun to watch. I want to see him, Lalna."

 _"Why?"_ he demanded. "What could you possibly stand to gain?"

"If you were about to die," Number Eight said, "which, technically, you are, what _one thing_ would you want to do? More than anything else."

He ground his teeth. "And if your psychotic clone were demanding to see your boyfriend, what—"

Number Eight took a step forward, his fist coming up. Lalna mirrored the motion, half a second delayed. The clone checked himself, and lowered his fist. Lalna did not.

"All I'm asking," Number Eight said, his voice clipped, "is a little . . . _compassion."_

It stung, and he knew it was supposed to, knew that the guilt chewing his intestines had been set upon him from outside, but still, the memory of Honeydew's face—hurt, confused, angry—was enough to take some of the threat out of Lalna's stance.

And besides, what harm _could_ it do? Rythian would know the moment Number Eight walked in the door that he wasn't Lalna. Nothing he said could do any harm, nothing he did could change anything.

It wasn't even Rythian in the box, Lalna reminded himself. So it couldn't _possibly_ matter.

"Fine," he said. "But I'll be watching. And you'll wear a wire, so I can hear, too."

"Good," Number Eight retorted, although there was a breathy tremor in his voice. "You might learn something."

"And if anything— _anything_ you say or do hurts him? I will make your life hell for as long as I can keep you breathing."

"Of course you will," he intoned, and rolled his eyes.

* * *

 

Rythian sat up and fixed his gaze on Number Eight. The door drifted closed with a _click._ In the monitor room, Lalna wiped sweating hands on his trousers.

"Pleasant dreams?" Rythian inquired.

Number Eight's hand flew to the dark splotch on his neck. Lalna's fingertips brushed the matching mark on his own throat, and heat rose under his skin. His stomach turned a flip.

Number Eight seemed to have been struck speechless. He stared at Rythian for several seconds, unmoving, before lowering his hand and his gaze.

"I'm not who you think I am," he said at last.

"You would be surprised to know what I think of you," Rythian replied.

"I somehow doubt that," Number Eight said dryly.

Rythian's head tilted to the side. He considered the clone, hands sketching arcane nonsense in the air.

"You're not Lalna," he decided.

"No," Number Eight agreed, "and thank God."

"Then who are you?"

Number Eight frowned. "I'm . . . still working on that one."

Rythian nodded. "Did Xephos send you?"

"No. I came on my own."

"Is Lalna watching?"

"And listening."

Rythian looked up at the camera and waved. "I'm going to murder him."

Lalna felt like he might be sick. _It's not Rythian,_ he reminded himself. _He would never._

"Good."

He turned his eyes back to Number Eight. "And you, too."

"Good."

This gave Rythian some pause. He scuttled, crabwise, to the nearer side of his cube.

"Let me out," he said. Lalna shivered, and watched the same chill run through Number Eight.

"Would if I could."

Rythian's eyes crinkled. "I like you better already."

"You'll like me a lot more when I tell you that I know Xephos is Israphel."

Lalna had expected a lot of reactions to this—confusion, derision, even outright scorn. What he had not expected was for Rythian to freeze on the spot, eyes going wide.

"And . . . Lalna doesn't," Rythian concluded. "He doesn't know." Something that could roughly be called a laugh bubbled out of him, and he clapped his hands over his mouth.

"Oh, God, you—" Number Eight broke off, and then crossed to the box and knelt before Rythian. "I wasn't—I mean, _Lalna_ wasn't, er, in on it. Xephos wiped my— _his_ memories, then blamed the injuries on you. He said something had gotten into your head, something dangerous. I thought—Lalna thinks he's saving you. Rythian, I would never—I would _never—_ if I had known, all those things I said to you . . . I wouldn't have."

Rythian laughed again. There were tears in his eyes.

"I suspected—I mean I _thought—_ but I wasn't sure, I wasn't _sure_ that you weren't. . . ."

"To be fair," Number Eight murmured, "I did still trap you in a box and abandon you. I still . . . betrayed you. Your trust. And I . . . shouldn't have."

Rythian regarded him and drew some more invisible symbols in the air.

"You're right," he said, "you shouldn't have."

Lalna's head was spinning as he watched the scene unfold. It was too bizarre—he could think of no reason for Rythian to play along with the clone's delusions, could imagine no way in which it benefited him, especially since Number Eight had already stated that he couldn't get Rythian out.

Then again, Rythian _knew_ Lalna was watching and listening. He had to assume that this was as much a performance as every other time they'd spoken. It didn't matter that Rythian seemed to have forgotten all about the camera, didn't matter that he sounded completely sincere, didn't matter that strange and uncomfortable ideas were drifting through the back of Lalna's head, stirred up by the talk of Xephos and his presumed scheming.

And then _again,_ it wasn't even Rythian, it was a monster wearing his skin and it would do anything to get loose, and it had _said_ it was going to murder Lalna so it _couldn't_ be Rythian, so all of this was pointless and insane.

Number Eight and Rythian had been looking at each other for an uncomfortably long period of time. The clone was the first to look away, scratching the back of his head.

"I'm . . . sorryaboutthekitten," he mumbled.

Rythian's eyes widened. "What . . . did you say?"

Number Eight cleared his throat and fidgeted. "I said I'm . . . sorry. About the kitten. I shouldn't've taken her. You—I mean, you clearly loved her, and I—hurt you. It was wrong of me to do it. I was— _I_ was wrong. And I'm . . . sorry."

"He would've _killed_ it, you moron," Lalna grumbled. "See how hurt he'd be _then."_

But Rythian had gone soft around the edges, and his fingers were hovering at his throat, and his voice, when he spoke, was quiet and affected.

"Thank you," he said. He rallied, and demanded, "Why are you saying this?"

Number Eight shrugged. "Because I'm never going to see you again. And I can't lie to you anymore. Not when . . . I can't leave without. . . ." He waved his hands, defeated.

"Lie to—? When have I _ever_ lied to him?" Lalna demanded of the monitor. "Psychotic bastard."

Rythian nodded. "I understand," he said.

"Do you? Fantastic, because _I_ don't." Number Eight shook his head and wrapped his arms around his waist. He was staring at his own knees. "I just . . . Ryth, I can't—"

"Only Lalna calls me _Ryth,"_ he interrupted, not harshly.

Number Eight flinched, then chuffed out a laugh.

"Right." He took a deep breath and sighed it back out. "Right."

"You were saying?" Rythian prompted.

"Rythian," Number Eight began, and Lalna could hear how strange it tasted to him. "I can't let the last thing I ever say to you be a lie. You . . . you deserve better than that."

"So don't fucking lie to him," Lalna muttered.

Rythian was silent for a time, studying the clone. Finally, he smiled, a meek and tentative thing that tugged at Lalna's heart.

"I wish you were the one staying," he said.

 _"That's_ it," Lalna snapped. He flung off his headphones and stormed across the corridor. Number Eight was still staring, stunned, at Rythian, and hadn't noticed Lalna coming in. Lalna kicked him in the side of the head as hard as he could. The clone went sprawling and lay still, save for his breathing. Rythian sat unmoved. Lalna tried to pretend he wasn't there.

"That could have been you," Rythian murmured.

"Getting kicked in the head? Think I'll pass, thanks."

"That still could be you," he said, and there was a note of desperate hope in his voice.

"Not falling for it," Lalna replied. "Not again."

"Lalna," Rythian said, "please."

"Leave it to you to fall for a psychopath." He dragged the unconscious clone towards the door. He'd just opened it when Rythian spoke again, harsh and dry and bitter.

"I'd tell you to go fuck yourself," he said, "but it's clear that you already have."

Face burning, stomach tying itself in knots, Lalna hauled Number Eight the rest of the way out and slammed the door behind him.

Then he kicked him again, just for good measure.

 


	14. Checking In

_Log 12_

_Never again._

_Never, ever again, so long as I live. Brains are too delicate. Brains are too goddamn delicate and complex and I am never,  ever meddling with someone's personality again. _

_Because it worked. God help me, it worked, because Lalna went under and something else came back up, and oh good Christ what if Lalna finds it? _

_This is the worst idea I've ever had. I have to get rid of it—all of it, every trace of it. It's monstrous, it's a monstrous thing to do to a person even if they're not a person and just a clone, because it was Lalna  enough and I cannot—I cannot under  any circumstances allow it to happen again, by my hands or anyone else's. _

_Is this what started it? Is this what went wrong? God help me, I won't do it again. I'll break the cycle before it starts—yes, that's what this is. It could have happened here. It won't. Not here. Not with this. I won't do it again._

_No one can ever know._

_End Log 12_

* * *

 

"Um," said Lalna, leaning into Xephos's office, "there's something you should see."

Xephos sighed and set down his pen. "Please, for the sake of decency, tell me it's good news."

Lalna pulled a face and scratched the back of his head.

"Er," he said, "the nanites worked? Sort of?"

He stood, his heart racing. "Number Eight?"

"Yeah. I've, er, had to lock him up."

"What? Why?"

"Well, he's a bit mad. Not like Seven, of course, but still. Mad."

Xephos turned away so Lalna wouldn't see the sickened look of guilt on his face, and pretended to look for something on his shelves.

"Unfortunate," he remarked. "I'm guessing you'd like me to have a look at it?"

"Yeah," Lalna hedged, "but, um. Could I come in for a bit?"

Xephos faced him and raised an eyebrow, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Yes," he allowed. Lalna slipped in and shut the door behind him.

"When I say he's _mad,_ um. He has these delusions. About you."

A hole opened up in Xephos's stomach and started sucking down his insides. He clenched his teeth on the feeling, trying to keep it off of his face.

"Oh? Such as?"

Lalna waved a hand. "It's ridiculous, really. All this bollocks about wiping memories, about you being some kind of, like, proto-Israphel, thinking you're going to start torturing Rythian, for fuck's sake—all sorts of stuff. All mad, of course. Just thought you'd want to know before you heard it from him."

His hands were shaking. The inside of his head was a whirlwind, and he couldn't put a thought together amongst it. The hole in his stomach was widening and widening, leaving cold hollows in its wake. He had forgotten how to breathe.

"Xeph?" Lalna said, taking a step towards him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he choked out, mostly on instinct. "I'm fine." He swallowed down the panic and dragged a hand down his face, trying to wipe away any telling expressions. "Those are . . . disturbing ideas, to say the least. Thank you for telling me beforehand, Lalna. Shall we—go see Number Eight? I don't have anything pressing to finish."

"Yeah, all right," he allowed. "You're _sure_ you're all right? You look a bit green."

"Yes, well. So would you, if you had that sort of mad accusation leveled at you." He picked up his sword belt from under his desk and strapped it on, his fingers only adept by force of habit.

"I wasn't accusing you," Lalna pointed out.

"Yes, I know, thank you. Disturbing ideas, anyway. Let's go, I haven't got all day." He brushed past Lalna before he could reply and stepped out into the hall. His hand shook less when it rested on the hilt of his sword.

Lalna hurried up to his side, eyeing him. "I've got him down on B6. Room 4. Temporarily, because I haven't a doubt in my mind he'll try to get out. I'm working on something higher security."

"You know, I _could_ put a team on that," Xephos mentioned. He stopped outside the elevator and pressed the button. He was proud of himself for hitting it on the first try. "You don't _actually_ have to do everything yourself."

"Yeah, but he's _me._ Nobody else knows exactly what he'll try."

Xephos rolled his eyes and made an irritated noise. "It isn't _you,_ Lalna, it's a clone. It may have some of your . . . idiosyncrasies, but it's not _you._ I'm sure we can handle it without you."

The elevator arrived and they stepped in. Lalna pressed the button this time, and Xephos hid his shaking hand behind his back.

"Speaking of containment," he said. "How are things coming along with that? Any breakthroughs, discoveries?"

"With—? Oh. You mean for Rythian."

"Yes, that was the project I gave you."

Lalna fidgeted. The elevator doors opened again and the two of them entered the B6 hallway.

"I er, I've been busy," he said. "With the clone thing."

Xephos clicked his teeth. "You do know that the longer it takes you to find something that'll hold him, the longer he has to stay in that forcefield?"

"I've . . . been meaning to talk to you about that."

They reached Room 4, and Xephos waved off Lalna's remark.

"Later. Let's focus on the mad clone for now, shall we?" Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door.

Number Eight's prison was homey, if small. There was a bed, a chair, and a bookshelf. Lalna had even put down a rug. The whole ensemble was contained in a cube of plastic shielding, which had a small mail slot (presumably for passing through food) and a thick door in a steel frame that only had a handle on the outside.

Number Eight itself was lying on the bed, barefoot, reading. It was wearing Lalna's clothes, including one of his lab coats, and had a huge purple bruise across one side of its face. It looked up when Xephos and Lalna entered, then marked its place in the book and stood up. It wobbled slightly on its feet as it approached the door, although its eyes were bright.

"So," it said, looking Xephos up and down. "You've finally come to see me."

"Finally?" Xephos inquired. He glanced at Lalna. "How long have you had it down here?"

 _"Him,"_ Number Eight snarled. "How long have you had _him_ down here."

Xephos waved a hand and raised his eyebrows at Lalna.

"A day?" Lalna guessed. "I mean, he was unconscious for most of it."

"Don't forget the part where I promised to go quietly and you kicked me in the head," Number Eight offered. "That was my favorite part."

"You would've done the same," Lalna shot back.

"Stop," Xephos interceded. "If you two can't stop arguing with each other, I'm going to send Lalna out. It's enough of a miracle you didn't kill it, Lalna, I somehow doubt our luck will hold up a second time."

Number Eight cackled. "Luck, right. Has he told you about my so-called delusions? I'll bet he has, that's why you look so green."

He felt like he was going to be sick. He turned his full attention on the clone, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"Anyone would," he said, "having had horrendous accusations thrown at them."

Number Eight grinned. "Is that the story you're going with? I have to say, I expected better. You've been so _dashedly_ clever this whole time, I really expected more than just _anyone would._ Although _honestly,_ I rather expected you to kill me the moment you walked in the door, so this entire conversation is something of a shock."

"Number Eight—" Lalna began.

 _"Lalnable,"_ the clone spat, rounding on him. "My name is _Lalnable._ Call me that fucking clone name one more time and I'll kick your teeth down your throat."

"I see it's inherited your violent streak," Xephos remarked. "All right, _Lalnable,_ what—"

"Dr. Hector," it corrected, turning gleaming eyes on Xephos. "It's _Dr. Hector_ to you."

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Lalna told it.

"Shouldn't talk about yourself like that," it responded, never taking its eyes off of Xephos.

Lalna threw his hands up in the air and sighed. "You see what I have to put up with?"

"Lalna," Xephos said, "I'm sure you have important work to be doing. Containment, for example. I don't feel I need your company to handle one mad clone."

"What? Look, I don't think you should—"

"Talk to me alone?" Number Eight finished. "Oh, I think he should. Lalna's frightened you'll kill me, just like I said you would. He's frightened that everything I've said is true. Tell me, Xephos, is it _fun_ for you to torture Rythian?"

"I am not _torturing_ him," Xephos snapped. "And to answer the spirit of your question anyway: no, it's horrendous and I hate it, but it's necessary."

"Of course," Number Eight allowed. "Because if anyone _remembers_ you're Israphel, they might remind you, and then all the monstrous things you've done will be for nothing. Are you going to make yourself forget what you did to Honeydew? I can't imagine that's easy to live with."

"Shut up," Xephos hissed. His hand was clenched on his sword so tightly that it was hurting his bones.

"Oh, and _there_ it is!" Number Eight crowed. "Look at him, Lalna. Tell me he doesn't remind you of somebody."

He heard Lalna take in a breath, and cut him off before he could speak.

"Lalna," he said, his voice strained, "I believe you have work to do. Elsewhere."

"Sorry, what? Are you—are you trying to get rid of me?"

Xephos ground his teeth. Number Eight was smirking at him. It was the same kind of gloating expression that Rythian wore when he thought he had scored a point in whatever strange game he was playing. As with Rythian, Xephos wanted to slap the expression clean off the clone's face.

"Yes, Lalna, I would like you to _leave,"_ he growled. "Hence my asking you to go do your _actual job."_

"When you come back and I'm dead," Number Eight said to Lalna, "make sure to remember that I said _I told you so."_

"He's not going to kill you," Lalna retorted. He glanced at Xephos. "Er, are you?"

"Not before we've figured out what went wrong," he answered. "Wouldn't want any more of your clones turning up like this."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," Number Eight said.

"Yeeaah," Lalna said, "but he _is_ a bit of a bastard. I just about killed him."

"Fortunately for all of us, I have rather more self-control than you do, so there's really nothing to worry about. If you'll excuse us, Lalna."

Lalna hovered for a moment, looking between Xephos and Number Eight, before sighing and walking out.

The door clicked closed behind him. Xephos met the clone's gaze and held it.

"How?" he demanded.

Number Eight grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I'll figure it out eventually, you may as well tell me."

"You underestimate how much I enjoy frustrating you. So when you tied me down and mucked about with my brain, were you already planning to pin it on Rythian, or did you pull that out of your arse?"

"Rythian was a danger to everyone here. He had to be contained."

"Oh, of course. And then studied, and then have _his_ brain mucked about with so you can pretend you're not a monster."

"I'm _not_ a monster," he said.

"Really? You know, I think Number Seven might say differently."

Bile rose in his throat and he had to swallow it down again before he could reply.

"That was a mistake," he croaked.

 _"You're_ a mistake," Number Eight shot. "Your whole life is a mistake."

"You're a fine one to talk."

"Do you know what _I'd_ do, in your shoes? I'd do the decent thing and off myself before anybody else got hurt. Of course, _I'm_ not a bloody coward. But Rythian would be happy to do it for you, if you're lacking the moral fiber."

"Why does _everyone_ always suggest killing myself?" Xephos demanded of the world in general. "It's an epidemic."

"Maybe—and I'm going out on a limb here—it's because we want you dead."

"Well _I_ don't," he snapped, "and I think I've got the most right to decide."

"What happened to Number Five?"

The change in subject gave Xephos mental whiplash, and it took him a moment to gain traction on the new conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what did you _do_ to him? I wouldn't jump into a vat of cryotheum, and I know damn well that no one in this place is trying to kill me, you lying piece of shit. I know _I_ didn't kill him, so either you threw him in or you fucked his head so badly that he ended up somebody else."

The cold was creeping out through Xephos's body, and where it touched, the trembling sickness evaporated, the guilt sank back into oblivion.

"No one will ever believe you," he said.

"No one already does. Except you. And Rythian."

The cold surged out to his fingertips. His hands stopped shaking.

"You talked to him."

"I did."

"Useful to know. I'll be sure he doesn't remember you."

"You'll be a fine bloody mist."

Xephos gestured at the closed door behind him. "Lalna will see to it that I'm not."

"Lalna will _also_ be a fine bloody mist."

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Number Eight."

 _"Dr. Hector,_ and I know you're doing it on purpose."

"When I was fighting Israphel, I saw him catch Rythian. I watched Rythian struggle and fight to poof his way out, and I watched him _fail._ I know it can be done, and I know _I_ can do it. It's only a matter of time before I figure it out."

"Christ," Number Eight breathed. "I didn't think you were _that_ far gone."

"There comes a point," Xephos said, "when the only way out is forward. No matter _what_ you have to go through to get there."

"Well then you'd best get moving," Number Eight said, "because the only way you're headed at the moment is down."

"I _could_ kill you," Xephos reminded him— _it._ "I could kill you and no one would blame me."

"So why don't you? Lalna said the same thing, and multiple times. Honestly the only person who's threatened to kill me who I _believe_ is Rythian. It was almost refreshing."

The cold had filled him completely and was leaking out of his skin. He approached the cell, unhurried. Gratifyingly, Number Eight took a step back.

"If you would be so kind as to step up to the slot," Xephos said, drawing his sword, "I would be happy to demonstrate how serious I am."

Number Eight took another step back.

"You need me," it declared. Its eyes were fixed on the sword.

"Do I? That's news to me. I was under the impression that I could just clone Lalna again and have another one of you. Maybe I could cut its tongue out first-thing and spare myself a bit of annoyance."

"There's no guarantee he would remember like I do!" Number Eight protested. Xephos put a hand on the door handle of the cell.

"Then you'd be a bothersome fluke, and I wouldn't have to worry about it. Do you believe me yet, Number Eight, or should I come in?"

"You open that door and I'll snap your neck," the clone snarled. "And for the last goddamn time, it's _Dr. Hector."_

"You wouldn't make it two steps," Xephos informed it, "and you won't have a tombstone anyway, so I don't see that your name matters."

He turned the handle. Number Eight leapt on top of its bookshelf and wedged itself in the corner.

The door rattled in its frame. Xephos smiled.

"Ah. It seems to be locked," he noted. He sheathed his sword. "Apparently, Lalna has some sort of interest in your continued survival, if not your well-being. How odd."

He turned to go, and Number Eight spoke up again.

"You still haven't told me what happened to Five," it said. Its voice was only shaking a little.

"Hm. So I haven't. Then again, I don't see why I should."

"I'm sure you'd like to brag to somebody. Who else could you tell?"

"I'm not proud of what I did," he said.

"Then I'm sure you'd like to confess to somebody before the guilt eats you alive."

"I'm also not torn up about it."

"Fine. Monster that you are, I suppose it was a fairly routine murder."

Xephos's lips curled into a smile.

"Oh, no. I didn't kill it. It jumped."

"That must have been an impressive amount of brain-frying."

"I never touched it," Xephos replied. "All I did was talk."

"You _talked_ him into killing himself."

"Yes."

_"Why?"_

Xephos shrugged. "To see if I could," he answered, and walked out.

And beelined straight to the nearest bathroom, where he threw up everything in his stomach and then went right on dry-heaving for another ten minutes.

He could still remember the look of quiet resignation on Number Five's face— _Lalna's_ face—just before he'd jumped.

It was one more item on the long, _long_ list of things he was going to make himself forget.

* * *

 

The Captive Creeper was quiet at this time of night, so close to closing. Evidently Number Six—Lalna, he reminded himself, it was Lalna so long as he was outside the Labs—had had his ban lifted, because he was slumped over the bar, snoring. Xephos waved tentatively to a few other patrons in the corner—residents of the village, he thought, though he couldn't recall their names—before taking a stool at the bar.

Minty's smile, when she saw him, was brittle.

"Surprise, surprise," she said. "What can I get you?"

"Just a cider, thank you."

"Will do." She turned and took down a glass from the rack overhead. "What brings you here? I thought you were busy with science things."

"Did Honeydew tell you that?"

"Astonishingly, I put that one together myself." She set a tall glass of amber cider down in front of him. "Want me to put it on your tab?"

"Er, no, I've got . . . one second. . . ." He rooted about in his pockets until he found the necessary amount of coinage, then handed it to Minty. She counted it all before taking it to the till. Down the bar, Lalna(ish) let out a snort and twitched in his sleep.

Xephos gestured at him. "I see he's been un-banned."

"Poor sod hasn't got anywhere else to go," Minty said. "And it keeps him out of trouble. Mostly. How come he's not working at the Labs anymore?"

"We had, er, some issues. Differences of opinion, sort of thing. I gave him some time off. Possibly permanent. It depends."

"Hm. Drama among scientists. Who knew."

"Er, so, I've been meaning to ask, Minty. How are you doing? Anything . . . out of the ordinary?"

She glared at him. "Have you poisoned the water supply?"

"No! No, we haven't. Just, er, well, Honeydew said you'd been acting a bit off, and I . . . was naturally concerned."

Minty shrugged. "Nothing that I'd call concerning."

"Trouble focusing, lapses in memory, things like that?"

The look she shot him went right down to the bone. "And how would you know that?"

He scrambled. "Er, well, see, the thing is, I—er, I've been having, um, similar. Things. So has Honeydew. And—and Lalna. Everyone who was, you know, there. Although, I can't say about Rythian, since he's, er, elsewhere, at the moment. But everyone who's here, who was there. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'd really rather not talk about it," Minty told him. "I'm fine, and you don't have to worry about me. Let's leave it at that."

"That . . . is fine with me. I won't ask again."

"Good," she said, and went to tend to her other customers.

* * *

 

Rythian _knew._ It should have been impossible, because not even Lalna knew what Xephos was doing there, but the door had barely closed behind him before Rythian was trying to climb the walls of his box.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Xephos said, spreading his hands.

"And I'm a land-squid, get _away_ from me."

Xephos pulled a slim aluminum canister from his coat pocket and held it up for Rythian to see. There was a thin metal ring affixed to one end, rather like the pin of a grenade.

"I promise it won't hurt," he said.

"Is that what you said to Honeydew before you burned holes in his brain?" Rythian snarled. "Is it what you said to Lalna?"

"No one's burning any holes in anyone's brain," Xephos said. His voice came out more clipped than he would have liked. "It's just a tranquilizer. It won't hurt you."

"It's not the _tranquilizer_ I'm worried about," he retorted.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. _"I_ won't hurt you, either. I rather thought that was obvious."

 _"Hah!_ You'd snap me like a twig if you thought you could get away with it."

"Don't tempt me. You're a lot less trouble from the neck up." He waggled the canister. "I'm not even certain it'll knock you out. That's part of the test. And yes, I know you'll fake it, which is why I'm not going to tell you how _long_ it's supposed to knock you out for, or what the side-effects will be."

"And if I fail your _test?"_

He shrugged. "I try something else. I would prefer not to get around to _a solid knock on the head,_ but I will if I must."

"You're making a mistake," Rythian said. Xephos's upraised hand was tingling from the weight of his attention.

"Of course I am," he answered easily. "That's what science is. A long series of mistakes until you run out of wrong ways to do it."

"You don't know what it will do to me."

"No, I don't, but I intend to take very thorough notes."

"Lalna will _kill_ you when he finds out."

"Lalna is under the impression—correct, by the way—that I am helping you. It's truly incredible what he'll agree to when he's told it's _for your own good._ I get the feeling he says that to you quite a bit."

"One day," Rythian hissed, "your hand will slip, and I'll get out. And when I do, I'm killing Honeydew first."

"Leave him _out_ of this," Xephos snapped, cold fury boiling in his chest.

"Better I kill him than you do."

There was a sharp retort on Xephos's tongue, but he fought it down. He settled back onto his heels and forced himself to breathe normally.

"I'm glad you've found a way to entertain yourself," he pronounced, "but I'm afraid I'm not playing."

"He'll die knowing what you did to him. He'll _thank_ me."

"You talk _far_ too much," said Xephos, and pulled the pin out of the end of the canister. A yellowish gas began to hiss out of it, and he tossed it over to the forcefield. "Best of luck."

He exited the room to the sound of Rythian's fervent cursing, and graciously awarded himself a point.

 


	15. Precious Things

_Dear Diary,_

_Some bad shit is going down. I went to talk to Rythian earlier—because he's all alone, you know, and I thought he could use the company—and he wasn't there. The box was gone, Rythian was gone, the whole thing just  gone. I poked around a bit and found this weird little room with a bunch of screens and switches and shit, and I think Xeph and Lalna have been watching Rythian from in there, 'cause the biggest screen—the one right in the middle—shows his room. The room where they've been keeping him, I mean. It's not really  his.  _

_And now he's not there. And I haven't seen Xeph or Lalna today, and it's not that I think he's killed them because that would be awful but I have to think: what if he's killed them? I don't know what to do. I never bloody well know what to do, but now I really don't know what to do, and it scares the piss out of me. _

_They're probably fine. Xeph and Lalna. And Rythian. Talked it out, sort of thing, and it'll all be fine and we won't have to worry about it anymore and we can get on with that bloody Jaffa factory, god dammit._

_Just, y'know, maybe I should try and check up on them. Again. See if they're back in their offices. It'll be fine. They're all fine._

_Rythian especially is fine because I know Xeph hasn't done anything to him because that wouldn't be Xeph at all and Xephos is Xephos and not anybody else and that's fucking that. _

_Shit I've really got to find Rythian right fucking now_

* * *

 

"'Scuse me," he said, standing on tiptoe so he could see over the counter. The testificate at the front desk leaned over to look at him.

"Can I help you, sir?" they asked. Honeydew would swear he could see their nostrils moving to form the words.

"Uh, yeah. You seen Xephos or Lalna lately?"

They nodded. "They're in their offices, sir."

"Oh, good," Honeydew sighed. He stumped off towards Xephos's office, then paused. He tossed a quick 'thank you' over his shoulder and hurried on.

Xephos was pacing the back of his office, hands behind his back, his face pinched down tight. His face was red and blotchy, and his coat's lapel was torn.

"Christ, are you all right?" Honeydew asked, stepping in.

Xephos jumped a full foot in the air and came down with his hand on his sword. He slumped when he recognized Honeydew, the fight draining out of him like water from a balloon.

"Oh, God, don't scare me like that," he sighed, running a hand back through his hair.

"Has something happened?" _To Rythian,_ he added mentally.

"Er, yes, in a manner of speaking. It's not—" He pulled up short and bit his lip. "We . . . were testing containment options for Rythian. It was, um. Disconcerting."

Honeydew nodded. "Imagine it would be. Is he, you know, all right?"

"Yes," Xephos answered, too quickly. "Honeydew, look, what did he _say_ to you? The other night. He won't tell me, and I'm . . . concerned. For your well-being."

He steeled himself, trying to draw strength from the stone under his feet.

"A load of old arse," he said. "Just threw me off a bit, that's all. I'm all right. You know me."

"Yes, but what did he _say?"_

 _Oh, shit,_ Honeydew thought.

"Lots of murderin' was involved," he said. It was technically true and came out easier than a blatant lie. "Lots of, y'know, askin' to be let out."

Xephos raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Look, he went into a lot of detail about the murderin', all right?"

For a moment, he thought Xephos had seen right through him, would hoist him up by his beard and drag him off somewhere to cut out parts of his head—but then Xephos nodded and sighed.

"I'm . . . sorry. It must have been difficult to hear." He frowned and shook his head. "What I don't understand is why you were talking to him in the first place."

"Christ, Xeph, 'cause he's my friend, and he's been down there for bloody weeks, and I thought he might be lonely."

Xephos chuffed out something like a laugh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did, friend. And I don't blame you. Just . . . I think it would be rather a bad idea to try talking to him again. Until he's well, I mean. It shouldn't take much longer, I think."

"Yeah, but—"

The diamond-hard glint in Xephos's eye sent a jolt down Honeydew's spine, but the look was gone in an instant, a mere flicker of expression, a glimpse of pale fins from the murky deep.

"Honeydew, please. I—honestly, I don't want to have to go in there and get you again. I try to avoid contact with Rythian whenever possible, and Lalna does the same, because he does so love his little mind-games and I really, _really_ dislike it when he starts playing with you." He took a moment to catch his breath, then sighed again. "I'm not going to say you _can't,_ because it's not my place to tell you what you can and can't do, but just . . . please, Honeydew, don't."

"Yeah, all right," he said mildly. "Didn't need all the dramatics, y'know."

Xephos cracked a smile. "Our resident master of dramatics has been rubbing off on me, I suppose."

"Who, Rythian?"

"Lalna."

"Oohhhh. Yeah, speaking of, I'm uh . . . gonna go talk to him for a bit."

"You're—oh, all right. Did you, um . . . what _did_ you need from me?"

"Nah, just came to have a chat. Check up on you, all that."

Xephos raised an eyebrow. "I'm not _entirely_ certain I need checking-up-on, but thank you."

"You do," said Honeydew, and only realized how dark the words had sounded when they were far past his lips. He turned on his heel and pushed the door open. "Well anyway, I've got to be going, see ya later shitlord, all that."

"Um? All—all right, I suppose—"

Honeydew hurried out, cursing under his breath.

"Ya fuppin' idiot," he muttered to himself. "Don't _say_ shit like that, rrgh, he ain't _deaf,_ and he ain't stupid, neither. Get your shit together, Honeydew, you're gonna blow the whole thing."

With swift purpose, he trekked to Lalna's office and stuck his head in. Lalna was sitting at his desk and staring at his hands—or rather, staring _through_ them, because he looked like he was about a million miles away at the time.

"Oy, Lalna."

It took him a couple of seconds to make his way back to reality. He blinked and looked up at Honeydew.

"Oh," he said, "er, hello. D'you need something?"

"Nah, just makin' sure you wasn't dead."

"Um? Was I—am I in _danger_ of being dead?"

"Guess not, seein' as you're still here. Right, well, I'll be off, then."

"Wait wait wait. You can't just pop in here, ask if I've died, and then leave. Gonna make me paranoid."

"More paranoid."

"What?"

"What? Nothing, I didn't say nothing, go on."

Lalna frowned at him, then threw his hands up in resignation.

"Look, all right, in the past _month,_ I've seen my own dead body _six times._ All right? I've had to cremate myself twice. So I hope you'll pardon me if I'm a bit fucking paranoid when somebody walks in and asks if I'm dead!"

 _"Six times?"_ Honeydew exclaimed. "Jesus Christ, how many of you _are_ there?"

"Well, two, now," Lalna said rolling his eyes. "Er, three. Ish."

"Ish? What d'you mean _ish?"_

"Look, it's not important and I don't want to talk about it, all right? Would you, please, just tell me why you thought I might be dead? _Just_ to dampen the paranoia."

"Right," said Honeydew. "Er, well, I . . . _might_ have gone to, you know, look in on Rythian."

"Oh," said Lalna.

"And he wasn't, y'know, _there."_

"Yeah."

"And he did talk an awful lot about murdering you."

"The thing in the box did, yeah."

"So I just, y'know, wanted to make sure he . . . hadn't. Murdered you."

"He hasn't," said Lalna. His eyes had come unfocused again. His voice was flat, expressionless.

"Er, so . . . is he, all right?"

"I'm sure he'll be just _fine,"_ Lalna said, mocking Xephos's tone and inflection.

"So he's not, then."

"It's not Rythian," Lalna asserted. "It's whatever's in his head."

"Yeah, all right, but is Rythian okay?"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Honeydew."

He crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose. "All right, fair enough. I'll just be on my way, then."

"Mm," said Lalna. He was staring at his hands.

"Christ on a bike," Honeydew grumbled, and stumped out.

* * *

 

Nilesy's little hut was full of boxes, and the boxes were, surprisingly, _not_ full of cats. The door stood open, but Honeydew knocked anyway.

"One second!" Nilesy called from somewhere out of sight. He hurried in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his trousers. His smile went brittle when he saw Honeydew on his doorstep.

"Oh," he said, "it's, er, you."

"The hell's all this, then?" Honeydew asked, gesturing to the boxes.

"Oh, well, em, see, Lomadia—you remember Lomadia, right?"

"Tall, blonde, pretty?"

Nilesy blushed. "Er, yeah. Well, thing is, she's got this, erm, deed. Nice little place, far away, it's an island, actually, off the south coast, _loads_ of owls, and she really likes owls, and I'll be honest, so do I—and it's _not_ just because she likes them, and you tell her that if she asks—and, well, I suppose long story short, she's asked me to come along and help her settle in. And, so, you know, I am."

"Seems like an awful lot of stuff for a short trip," Honeydew remarked.

"Well, yes, er, about that. She did say it might take, you know, a few weeks. And I—well, I could really use some time away from this place, things have gotten a bit dodgy and I don't want to be here when the muck hits the fan. Not that I think any muck is going to hit any fans, but uh, yeah. Just need a bit of a vacation. As it were. Before Sjin and Lalna start exploding things."

Honeydew folded his arms and smirked.

"You're moving in with her."

"What?" Nilesy exclaimed, laughing through his words. "No, _nooo_ ho ho no. No, it's not like that, not at all. We're just friends, just good ol' friends making an owl sanctuary, you know how it is."

"Right, right. Like you do, with your good friends."

"Exactly!"

"And if you should just _happen_ to accidentally start snogging—"

 _"Will_ you lay off?" Nilesy snapped, blushing. "Did you want something, or did you just come here to—to mock me relentlessly?"

Honeydew hid a smile in his beard. "I did want something. The mocking was just a bonus, like."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "What d'you want, then?"

"I was, er, wondering if I might borrow Rythian's cat. Just for a day."

Nilesy peered at him and folded his arms. "And what d'you need her for?"

"Well, if I'm honest, to visit with Rythian."

"You know where he is?" Nilesy cried, perking up.

 _"Shh!_ Look, I'm not—just don't tell Lalna, all right? It's very secret. Wouldn't want to drag you into any, y'know, drama."

"Oh. Yes! Of course. Won't say a word." He mimed drawing a zipper across his lips and winked.

"Thanks. I'll have her—the kitten, I mean—back by tomorrow. You won't've gone by then, will you?"

"Me? No. Still plenty of packing to do, I'm afraid. I'll send you along with some food for her. So you don't have to rush back. I'm sure Rythian misses her."

"I'm sure," Honeydew agreed. Nilesy looked at him oddly, and he coughed. "Er, y'know. Since he hasn't seen her in a while."

"Right," said Nilesy, sounding unconvinced. "Be back in a tick. Don't go anywhere."

Honeydew waited, tapping his foot and examining his fingernails, until Nilesy returned with the kitten and a little bag of dried meat. The kitten had nearly doubled in size since Honeydew had last seen her, and her eyes had turned from blue to tawny gold. She squirmed considerably less than the last time he'd held her.

"Em," Nilesy said, fiddling with his tie. "Will you . . . let me know how he is? Rythian, I mean. It's not that I think he's in trouble, or anything, because I'm sure he's not, it's just, you know, he did sort of vanish and I've been . . . well, a bit worried about it."

"Uh, yeah, all right," said Honeydew. "I mean, last time I saw him, he was. . . ." The lie stalled out on his tongue, and he had to look away from Nilesy. "He was, y'know. Up and about."

There was a moment of silence, and then Nilesy said, "If there's anything I can do—"

"Yeah," Honeydew interrupted. "There is. Move out. Go make your owl sanctuary with your—er, with Lomadia. And for fuck's sake, don't get involved in any of this bollocks to do with the labs. It ain't nothin' but trouble."

Nilesy studied his face, then nodded, slowly. "Take . . . er, take care, Honeydew," he said.

"Yeah," said Honeydew. The kitten was trying to eat his beard. "You, too."

"I will," Nilesy promised.

There was something comforting about that.

* * *

 

He knew something was wrong the moment he saw Rythian splayed on his side in the center of his cube. There were silvery bangles around his wrists and ankles and throat, and his eyes were open and unseeing.

Honeydew rushed to the cube, earning himself a displeased yowl from the kitten. He set her on the floor and she began to walk the perimeter of the cube, tail twitching, ears pricked forward. His heart was in his boots, cold against the floor. Dread was oozing out of his bones, and he was having trouble breathing.

"Rythian," Honeydew said, tapping the field. "Rythian, oy. Look, I've—I've brought your cat!"

If Rythian had heard him, he showed no sign of it. Strange black lines were scattered across his face and the skin left on his arms, and Honeydew could have sworn they were pulsing with a heartbeat.

"Rythian," he said again, unable to keep the edge of panic out of his voice. "C'mon, sit up. I know it's not really the same, not bein' able to pet her, but, y'know, she's here. Your kitten. I've only got her for the night, 'cause Nilesy's movin' away soon, so, y'know, be a shame to miss her."

A slow blink, and his fingers twitched. Honeydew's heart leapt.

"Yeah, that's right! Up and at 'em!" The cat had come back around, and Honeydew hoisted her. She mewled piteously and kicked out at the field. "C'mon, poor thing's come to see you, can't disappoint her!"

Rythian's eyes moved, settling on Honeydew and the kitten. He stopped breathing for a moment, then took a deep lungful of air and propped himself up on his elbow.

"Julie?" he said. His voice was hoarse and raw.

Honeydew nearly burst into tears. "Is that her name? Julie? Yeah, 's Julie! Say hello, Julie, say hi to your dad!"

Julie gave him a long-suffering look and thrashed her tail.

"She says hi, and she missed you," Honeydew told Rythian.

"Hi, Julie," Rythian managed, his eyes bright with tears. "I missed you, too."

Honeydew set the cat down, and she sat down in front of the field, watching Rythian, her tail twitching. Rythian dragged himself over to her, cradling his right arm to his chest.

Julie meowed, and Rythian smiled, resting his forehead against the field.

"You're so big," he whispered. A pair of tears slid down his cheeks. "When did you get so _big,_ hm? Such a little monster."

The kitten made a little _prrrow_ noise. Rythian touched a hand to the field, as though he might reach through it to her. Julie stood and rubbed her face against the field just over Rythian's hand, purring.

Rythian made a small, broken noise, and the next thing Honeydew knew he was curling around himself and sobbing, one hand clutching his heart, the other still pressed to the field. Honeydew gaped at him. Julie meowed and tried to rub against Rythian's hand again. Unable to cope with the fruitlessness of the whole scene, Honeydew scooped the cat up into his lap and held her tight. She wriggled, but he felt it was his solemn duty to hold her anyway.

"Please," Rythian begged, his voice a choked whisper. "I just—I just want to hold her. Please. I won't—I won't. . . . I promise, just _please,_ let me hold her, just once, just for a few minutes, _please."_

Honeydew bit his lip. Julie twisted out of his grasp and went right back to Rythian, butting her head against the field, purring and purring. Rythian sobbed again.

"I can't," Honeydew croaked. "Xeph, and Lalna . . . I can't."

"I don't _care,"_ he moaned. "I don't _care,_ I just want to go _home,_ I just want my cat and my own bed—I just want to see the sky again, I want to go _home,_ I want to go _home. . . ."_

He fought in vain to hold back his tears. Sniffling, he creaked to his feet and settled his helmet on his head.

"Yeah," he said, although hardly any sound made it past the lump in his throat, so little that Rythian didn't hear him. He was curled on the floor, crying, still pleading under his breath, small and powerless and so utterly _ruined_ that there was not a single doubt in Honeydew's mind about what had happened to him while he was out of his box.

Before he could second-guess himself, he strode across the hall, burst into the monitor room, and started flipping every switch he could lay his hands on. When the alarm went off, he did not stop, merely redoubled his efforts, cursing and crying, looking back to the monitor every second to see if the forcefield had gone. Frantic, he resorted to breaking things in the vain hope that it would do _something,_ that he could _do_ something, anything, that he could still _fix_ this. . . .

By the time Xephos flung the door open, he was just sitting amidst the smashed wreckage of the monitors, bawling helplessly into his bleeding hands.

 


	16. The Heart Asks Pleasure First

_Research Journal 12_

 

_Day 304_

_Number Eight is not like the others._

_For one thing, he insists I call him "Lalnable" since 1) his name is not "Number Eight," and 2) only his friends get to call him Lalna and I am not his friend. For another, he has prononced delusions about YogLabs, in particular about Xephos. He seems convinced there's some kind of conspiracy to erase a terrible secret, something to do with Xephos not being who he says he is. He does seem fully aware that he's the clone and I'm the original—a huge improvement from Numbers Four through Seven—but he tells me that I'm the imperfect copy. He has a penchant for violence—likely tied to his psychotic delusions—and so I've had to put him in a plastic cell in one of the empty warhouses down on B4. He tells me every time I visit that  I'm the one in the box, not him. _

_The psychosis is worrying for lots of reasons. It's unclear whethere the gene was always there and just hasn't been activated in me or the earlier clones and was somehow triggered by an event after consciousness, or if it's the result of a mutation caused by a glitch in the process. If it's the second, there's a huge problem with the system itself that needs to be fixed before we go global—can't have people waking up in their new bodies and suddenly being crazy. Evidence seems to suggest that this is the case, but Number Eight is . . . different._

_What worries me most, though, is the delusions—the particular delusions that Number Eight continuously states as fact. Unlike most psychotic delusions, they're very changeable and are constantly developing. His ideas seem to conform to new facts, when he gets them, and he's more than once brought up the subject of how he's "made an error" and corrects himself on a previous, apparently mistaken belief. As insane as his delusions sound—and they're top-notch insane, ranging from secret memory wiping to massive time-loops—I'm starting to wonder if there isn't some truth in what he's saying._

_After all, Xephos didn't hate any of the other clones. _

* * *

 

He was not, he reminded himself, under _any_ circumstances, to go sprinting in and clutch Rythian to his chest the moment the field went down, because there was still the _slight_ possibility that the tranquilizer wouldn't work this time—or hadn't worked at all, and Rythian had just made a very lucky guess the first and second time around—and that he would die a supremely gruesome death before he could say _oh, fuck._

With a descending whine and a faint click, the field flickered out of existence. Lalna's feet were moving before his brain had time to process the fact, and he dropped to his knees hard enough to bruise them and it didn't matter because _Rythian._

He was too light, too thin, too cold, but as Lalna squeezed him in his arms and buried his face in his patchy hair, it was the smell of him more than anything that brought tears to his eyes. He was Rythian, and he was real and solid and _here,_ no matter that he was limp as a ragdoll and his breathing was labored.

"Oh, God," Lalna whispered, clutching Rythian's body to him. "Oh, God, I missed you."

Behind him, there was a quiet cough.

"Plenty of time for, er, reunions when he's secured. If you would, please."

Letting go of Rythian was like choosing to stop his heart beating, and in the end he fished the silver rings out of his pocket one-handed, his other arm around Rythian's back, pressing their bodies together. The rings had a single, simple hinge and a locking clasp, and glowed with a faint, sickly light. Lalna cinched one around each of Rythian's wrists, his ankles, and a final, larger one around his neck. Lalna kissed him behind the ear when he put it on, because he was right there and the touch of his skin was analgesic to the sharp fear in his gut. He let his hands linger, because it had been so long since he'd touched Rythian and every second of it was bliss, was rapture and joy. Lalna wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to stir him back to waking and worship every part of him, to hear him breathe his name and feel his fingers fisted in his hair. . . .

When he had run out of excuses to touch and hold and caress and kiss, he put an arm under Rythian's knees and hoisted him up as he would a sleeping child. He could feel Rythian's heartbeat, quick and steady, through the backs of his legs. Rythian's head lolled over Lalna's arm, and the curve of his throat was exquisite and tantalizing.

Xephos raised an eyebrow. "You know you don't have to carry him," he pointed out.

Lalna shook himself and glared at Xephos. "If you think for one _second_ that I'm going to take my hands off him," Lalna replied, "you're out of your mind."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Fair, that's fair. We should head on, though, it only lasts about an hour and there's a lot to do."

Lalna nodded, and the two of them set out for the specially prepared surgical lab upstairs.

"I'm curious," Xephos said, as they walked. "Why silver?"

"Dunno," Lalna answered. It was difficult to focus, with Rythian held against him like that, when he was _so close._ There was a persistent, niggling impulse at the back of his head to throw all this goddamn science out the window, find a nice dark room with a bed and a lock on the door, and stay in there with Rythian for several days.

"Rrrright," said Xephos. He was watching Lalna out of the corner of his eye, and his lip kept trying to curl. "And you said they're enchanted? What with?"

"Huh? Oh, er, just something to keep 'em from breaking. Y'know, physically. It's the silver that does the . . . thing."

"Interesting," Xephos murmured. "How did you figure it out?"

"Er, well, about that." He would have continued, but Rythian made a little noise in his sleep and the niggling thoughts ratcheted up to a clamor. By the time he'd collected himself again, he'd lost the conversation. "Um," he said.

"You were saying, about the silver?" Xephos prompted. "How you figured it out?"

"Y-yeah, right, um. Turns out the, uh, the testificates have known about it for ages. Didn't really think of asking 'em, y'know, 'cause they're so bloody useless, but uh, yeah. Turns out they've been keepin' silver daggers on 'em for generations to keep the endermen off."

Xephos frowned. "And you're _sure_ this will keep him from—poofing?"

"Void-skipping. Yeah. Tested it on a bunch of endermen. There were a whole lot of sparks and a bunch of wailing, but they didn't get nowhere."

"Well, excellent! Good. I'm sure it'll be fine, then."

By the time they got to the designated surgery room, Lalna had managed to muffle his less-scientific thoughts and was nearly functional again. Putting Rythian down was still immensely difficult, but he managed it, and helped Xephos thread heavy canvas straps through Rythian's restraints, binding him to an examination table that was, in turn, bolted to the floor. That done, they exited the room, and Xephos activated a forcefield projector under the floor. The shimmering blue surface of the field was hidden within the walls of the surgery room, but Lalna could still hear the soft, grating whine of the machine.

In silence, they stared in at Rythian, sleeping soundly, looking untroubled.

"Do we . . . I mean, do we _really_ have to do this? Can't we just, y'know, take a couple samples and put him back?"

Xephos shook his head and folded his arms. "The problem isn't physical. I have to get a look at the inside of his head, and as things stand, I need him to be conscious for it to work."

"Xeph, what are you going to _do?"_ Lalna demanded. "Specifically."

"This time?" Xephos said. "Just talk. This is more a . . . proof of concept than anything. We could break out the scanners and take a peek at his physiology, if it'll make you feel better."

Lalna fidgeted. "I . . . guess," he said.

"But for now? We stand back and wait for our hour to expire."

He sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"Right."

* * *

 

When Rythian woke, he did it all at once—not a gentle drift to the surface of consciousness, but a gasping breach that made his whole body go rigid. He tried to jerk upright and immediately fell back, coughing his throat back into shape from where the silver ring around his neck had crushed it. He yanked at all his other restraints with such force that Lalna was certain the canvas straps were going to snap like rubber bands, his whole body bucking off the table as he thrashed. He howled, whether in frustration or rage it was impossible to tell, and then went dead still.

"Here it comes," Xephos murmured.

Rythian went out of focus, and there was an explosion of purple sparks. He fell back to the table, screaming, and thrashed like a landed fish.

"I think," Xephos said, "that's our cue to come in."

Lalna could not answer. His whole body was aching, a strange kind of sympathy arisen from watching Rythian struggle. His heart fluttered with a panic he could not source, and he took a sidling step away from Xephos.

The forcefield went down. There was another eruption of purple sparks from the table, and Rythian screamed again, cutting himself off with a damp squeak when he crushed his trachea against the restraint a second time.

Xephos entered, and Lalna trailed behind him, his blood gone thick and slimy under his skin.

Rythian had eyes only for him.

"Lalna," he gasped, "Lalna, please. Don't let him do this. Don't let him do this to me. Please, Lalna. _Lalna._ Don't let him do this to me!"

"Oh, do shut up," Xephos said. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Lalna, _please!"_ Rythian cried, giving another sharp jerk against his restraints. "You promised! _You promised!_ Don't let him—please, Lalna, stop this, _stop him."_

Lalna gulped. His hands were shaking, his innards in knots.

"It's going to be all right, Ryth," he croaked. "He won't hurt you."

"You don't understand," Rythian gabbled. Xephos had folded his arms and was watching him with a detached curiosity. "You don't _understand,_ you can't—he's _lying_ to you, this isn't what you think, Lalna, _help me!"_

He glanced at Xephos, who raised an eyebrow at him. Lalna turned back to Rythian, steeling himself.

"A week ago," he said, "you said you were going to murder me."

"Yes, and I was _wrong,_ I was so _wrong,_ please, for the love of God, don't let him do this."

"You're not fooling anyone, you know," Xephos told him, approaching the table.

"Xeph, wait," Lalna blurted. The look Xephos threw him could have eaten through concrete. "Just—just, let's talk about this, all right?"

"Oh, for the love of—for the _last goddamn time,_ Lalna, I'm _not_ going to hurt him! Why is that so difficult for you to believe?"

"Because it's a lie," Rythian snarled.

"Yes, thank you, I wasn't talking to you."

"Look, it's not that I don't _believe_ you," Lalna said, wringing his hands, "it's just, I don't like this. We shouldn't be _doing_ this, Xeph, not like this."

"Yes! Exactly!"

"Shut _up,_ or I'll gag you." He turned to Lalna. "What would you suggest, then? I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it was necessary."

"I'd suggest a little fucking _compassion!_ Christ, Xephos, this is—this is _monstrous!"_

Xephos seemed to settle into himself, as though something fundamental had changed in the make of his bones. Lalnable's words echoed in his head, distant and mocking.

_Oh, and there it is. _

"If you object that stringently to it," Xephos said, "you can leave."

"No," Lalna snapped. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"Oh, is _that_ how we're playing it," he said, lip curling. "Honestly, Lalna, it's almost tempting to _let_ him kill you just to prove the point. _This. Isn't. Rythian._ And the sooner you come to grips with that, the sooner we can get the real one back."

"You're going to die alone," Rythian hissed. "Alone and hated and ruined."

"Ryth, stop, you're not helping," Lalna pleaded. "Xeph, there's got to be other options. There's got to be another way. I mean, how do you _know_ it's not hurting him? How do you _know_ it's not _him?"_

 _"Look_ at him!" Xephos cried, jabbing an accusing finger at Rythian. "How blind _are_ you, Lalna? He's threatened to kill us both in cold blood, Rythian wouldn't _do_ that."

"He would, though," Lalna mumbled. "He killed you once before."

"He—that was different."

"He was going to kill me, too."

"Yes, but he didn't—it wasn't meant to be _permanent!"_

Lalna turned to Rythian. "And is it meant to be permanent now?"

"That depends," said Rythian.

"On?"

"On whether or not I think it hurt enough the first time."

"See?" Xephos cried. "This isn't _normal._ You can't tell me this is _normal."_

"I—I don't. . . ."

"You're calling _me_ monstrous, listen to _him."_

Lalna shook his head. "Xeph, I—I don't want to do this."

Xephos glared, and then the stillness overtook him again. Smoothly, he turned to Rythian, one hand resting on his sword.

"Do you remember," he inquired, his voice low, "when you asked me whether I'd like to see what was under the mask?"

Rythian's eyes went wide, and he started thrashing again. "No," he gasped, "no, no, _no, no—"_

"Well the answer's _yes,"_ Xephos said, and reached out a hand, and pulled the mask off of Rythian's face.

Beneath it, there was nothing—a depthless void-space speckled with purple lights that were not small but _distant,_ a hole torn in the fabric of reality, ripped out of him by vicious claws, ragged-edged and gruesome.

Three things happened in quick succession: Xephos cried out, recoiling; Lalna lunged for him with outstretched hands; and Rythian started _buzzing,_ his whole body vibrating against the table and blurring at the edges.

There was a _vwip, paff!_ and an explosion of purple sparks, and Rythian cried out in pain and jerked against his restraints.

 _"What the fuck?"_ Xephos cried, staring wide-eyed at Rythian. "What the _fuck?"_

"Stop _looking!"_ Lalna snapped, grabbing Xephos by the lapels.

 _vwip, paff!_ went Rythian, and screamed again, showered in purple light. His body jerked, and once again tried to throw itself through the void, and again and again and again, until his eyes went dead and he started convulsing in the brief periods when he wasn't snapping back and forth from darkness, and Xephos was still _looking_ at him, still holding a metaphysical cattle-prod to Rythian's spine.

Lalna threw Xephos bodily to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut. The buzzing tapered off, the constant cycle of _vwip, paff!_ faded to silence. Lalna staggered, blind, to Rythian's side, and fumbled the mask back onto him. He kept his hands on Rythian's face and let his forehead rest on his heaving chest. Rythian was cold to the touch, and his breath whistled in his throat.

"Don't _ever,"_ Lalna growled, "do that again."

He heard Xephos dusting himself off.

"Why does it _do_ that?" he wondered.

Rythian twitched and let out a low moan. Lalna lifted his head, wiped the sweat-soaked hair off of Rythian's face. He was pale, waxen, his eyes wide open and staring.

"I don't know," Lalna answered, "and I don't care. Don't do it again."

"Why not?"

Lalna rounded on him, his blood on fire. "Because it _hurt_ him, Xephos!" he snarled. "Are you fucking _blind?_ Look at him!"

Xephos looked over Lalna's shoulder. His face hardened.

"It doesn't change anything," he said.

"Why would you even _do_ that?" Lalna demanded.

He shrugged. "I was curious."

"Bull-fucking- _shit._ You _wanted_ this to happen."

Xephos raised his hands and took a step back.

"Lalna, I swear to you, I had no idea what would happen. It was . . . impulsive, I admit. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"You'd damn well better be," Lalna grumbled. He turned back to Rythian, who whimpered the moment Lalna set eyes on him. He was still twitching, random jerks and flutters of his muscles, as though his body was attempting to recalibrate itself. His eyes were the only part of him that wasn't moving.

"I . . . suppose we're done for the day," Xephos said. When Lalna didn't answer him, he sighed. "I really, truly am sorry, Lalna."

"The only reason your brains aren't all over the floor," Lalna told him, "is because I believe you."

"Oh. Er, right. Good? I think?"

Lalna began unfastening the straps that held Rythian to the table.

"Is that, er, wise?" Xephos asked.

"He's not going anywhere," Lalna said.

"Are you sure? I mean, he . . . doesn't _look_ like he's up to much, er, murdering, but, well, I don't know, has this happened before?"

"No," he said, releasing Rythian's ankles, "because _I_ had the goddamn courtesy to look away when I was told."

"Ah. Yes. Right. Does it always—I mean, I just don't understand how he, you know . . . how you, er. . . ."

He freed Rythian's neck and gathered him into his arms. Rythian curled against him, shivering, and thinking suddenly became very difficult.

"It's only like that when someone's looking," Lalna said. "'Scuse me." He brushed past Xephos, heading for the door, which he had to kick open, since his hands were preoccupied.

"Really? I wonder if that includes cameras. Do you think we could—"

"Xephos," Lalna interrupted, seething, "shut the fuck up."

For once, Xephos did as he was told, and Lalna left him there without a further word.

He made his way back to Rythian's room—his cell—all the time acutely aware of Rythian's body pressed against his own. Rythian had grabbed a handful of Lalna's shirt and was gripping it for dear life, and as he trembled, his fingers would brush Lalna's chest and send sparks scurrying under his skin. Lalna could feel Rythian's breath on his neck, and with each step, the desperate voice at the back of his head grew louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else, until he burned with a visceral _need_ for Rythian, for everything he was and could be, and damn the consequences.

When he set him down on the floor of his room, it was like peeling off his own skin. Rythian curled onto his side on the floor, his eyes finally closed, his breathing shallow and gasping.

Lalna could no more have left him there without kissing him than he could have held his breath for the rest of his life. He took Rythian's face in both hands, shut his eyes, and thumbed aside the mask. He tasted blood on Rythian's breath. The kiss made his whole body ache right down to the bones, and it was with great difficulty that he pulled away, replaced the mask, and left Rythian to shiver on the floor.

Xephos was standing in the hallway. Lalna pretended he wasn't there, crossed to the monitor room, and flicked the switch to reactivate the field. After a second's pause, the field sprang to life, shimmering on the video feed from Rythian's room. Lalna refused to let himself look any longer, and left without a second glance.

"Lalna—" Xephos began, tailing him down the hallway.

"I swear to God," Lalna said, "if you say one more fucking word to me, I'm going to break your bloody neck."

"It wasn't meant to _be_ like this," he continued anyway.

"And what _was_ it meant to be like?" he snapped, rounding on him. Xephos had to take a stuttering step back to avoid running into him.

He raised his hands, holding eye-contact with Lalna. "Shorter," he said. "Painless."

"So why _hasn't_ it been?"

Xephos shrugged. "I . . . underestimated him."

"No," Lalna said, "you decided it would be fun to _fuck_ with him. He's just another experiment to you, isn't he? You don't give a damn about _helping_ him, you just want to take him apart and see what makes him tick."

"I've made mistakes," Xephos admitted. "I've let my curiosity get the better of me. Especially today. It won't happen again, Lalna, I promise you. I really, honestly am trying to help."

"Then get to fucking work," Lalna snapped, and stormed off.

* * *

 

Lalnable looked up from his book, kicking his bare feet over the edge of his bed.

"Well, _you_ seem agitated," he remarked, sitting up. His expression changed from idle curiosity to something like fear when Lalna swiped his keycard at the door to his cell and threw the door open.

"Book," Lalna ordered, holding out a hand.

"What are you—"

 _"Now,"_ he snarled. Lalnable threw the book to him. He wedged it between the door and the frame and advanced on the clone.

"Lalna," he warned, getting to his feet and backing away. "Don't let's make this a fight."

Lalna grabbed him by the throat and hurled him back into his bed, then came down on top of him and kissed him with such reckless abandon that he cracked their teeth together. Lalnable made a brief noise of surprise, then reached up and fisted both hands in Lalna's hair.

He felt like he was going to come apart, like the energies inside him were going to split his seams and tear him to shreds, and so he set both hands to work getting Lalnable's clothes off and clamped his teeth on his neck keep himself from screaming.

Lalnable laughed.

"So, how's Rythian?" he inquired conversationally, while he flowed with the motions of Lalna's hips and hands and mouth.

Lalna bit down, and the clone hissed in a breath through his teeth, and after that there were very few words said between them.

 


	17. Thaw

_Log 12_

_I've discovered yet another thing I'm going to wipe from my memory at the earliest opportunity. 'Depraved' is not a word I throw around lightly, but I can't think of anything better to describe Lalna's relationship (ha ha) to Number Eight. I suppose it serves me right for spying on him, but who could have expected this? No one. No one sane, anyway, and by the looks of things Lalna has a couple of screws (ha ha) loose. _

_In addition to being disgusting, insane, and, yes, depraved, this level of intimacy (ha ha) is dangerous. Not just to me. Number Eight was emphatic about releasing Rythian, and after what I've done to him, I have no doubt that he would as soon kill me as look at me. And Lalna. Worse yet, the more Lalna places his trust in Number Eight—as he's doubtless doing, whether he means to or not—the more likely he is to  believe the bastard and turn this whole sick circus on its head. _

_On my head, rather. This wasn't supposed to be this difficult. No one was supposed to talk to Rythian, Lalna wasn't supposed to get in the way, and there certainly  wasn't supposed to be some goddamn clone shooting his mouth off at every opportunity. _

_But I'll fix it. I have to fix it. I've gone too far to take it back, even if I wanted to. _

_After all, it doesn't really matter what I do, does it? Because when it's all said and done, no one will remember I've done it._

_Not even me._

 

_End Log 12_

* * *

 

He just barely made it to the monitor room before Lalna tried flipping the switch. Peering in the window, he waited for Lalna to take the action, and pressed the _on_ button on the remote in his pocket. When Lalna went on storming about as if nothing was amiss— _more_ amiss, he should rather say—he chalked it up as a close-shave success and let himself breathe again. He hurried after Lalna, catching him up.

"Lalna—" he began, hovering at his elbow.

"I swear to God," Lalna snarled, his eyes alight with rage, "if you say one more fucking _word_ to me, I'm going to snap your fucking neck."

Xephos's heart made a bid to leap out of his mouth. _Never make him angry,_ he thought. _Why didn't I listen?_

He continued anyway, although he did so with one hand on his sword.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Lalna rounded on him, and Xephos leapt back, just far enough that he could draw his sword in time to let Lalna impale himself on it.

"Then what _was_ it supposed to be like?" he demanded. Since Lalna wasn't actively attempting to murder him, Xephos raised his hands, a gesture of peace, of surrender.

Never mind that if Lalna took so much as a step forward, he was determined to discourage him from taking another. With extreme prejudice.

"Short and painless," Xephos answered, trying to keep his voice to a low, soothing murmur.

"So why _wasn't_ it?"

 _Because you keep getting in the fucking way,_ he thought, but all he did externally was shrug.

"I underestimated Rythian," he said—which was true, and certainly hadn't helped.

"That's not it and you damn well know it," Lalna snapped. His fists were clenched, his whole body wound tight. Xephos's fingers itched to return to his sword. "You're just fucking with him now, aren't you. This is all just one big fucking experiment and he's your little guinea pig. This isn't about _rescuing_ him, this is about sticking your hands in his brain and seeing what twitches."

"I've made mistakes," he allowed. "I let my curiosity get the better of me, and it was . . . wrong. I won't let it happen again, Lalna, I promise. I _am_ trying to help."

"Fucking do it, then," Lalna spat, then turned on his heel and marched off down the corridor.

Briefly, Xephos considered tailing him, but decided that he had better things to do.

Although, he thought, _better_ was a relative term. _Better_ was wiring an alarm to the switch that had been used to deactivate the forcefield. _Better_ was stepping out into the hall with a cold anger balled in his chest. _Better_ was walking back into Rythian's room and standing over his twitching body.

"You have an impressive flair for the dramatic," Xephos told him, folding his arms.

Rythian whimpered.

"I'd think you were faking, except that you didn't kill either of us on the way down here. But I suppose even _you_ have your limits. Hearing you beg for mercy was a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but unexpected all the same. And you seemed so sincere."

Rythian tried to push himself up onto his elbows, then slumped back to the floor. Xephos noticed that there were black veins creeping out from underneath the silver manacles. He crouched down to get a better look.

"Does that hurt?" he inquired. "The silver, I mean. It's doing interesting things to your skin."

Rythian mumbled something and tried to get off the floor again, shaking his head.

"What was that? I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up."

 _"No,"_ he growled.

"Ah, quite a bit, then. Noted. You would be surprised to know the number of things I've noted about you. Well, no, _surprised_ isn't the right word. _Horrified_ is more accurate. How's the arm, by the way?"

Rythian glared at him. Xephos stood back up and smiled.

"Are you beginning to understand your position, Rythian?" he inquired. "I can explain it to you, if you're having trouble."

Rythian winced as he set his hands on the floor and pushed himself up. His arms were shaking with the effort.

"I'll explain, then. It's in your best interests to cooperate, because the more time I spend working on my _actual_ goals, the less time I have to think up new ways to hurt you."

"Bastard," he gasped.

 _"Misery is nothing new to me,"_ Xephos mocked. _"I just want to watch you squirm._ Who's squirming _now,_ Rythian?"

"Monster," he accused, drawing his knees up underneath him.

Xephos reached into his pocket and deactivated the field. He took a single step forward, put his boot on Rythian's throat, and forced him back to the floor.

"Who the fuck is squirming _now,_ you hideous _freak?"_ he asked.

Rythian fumbled his hands around Xephos's ankle. The fear on his face was well worth all the harsh words Lalna could spit out. Xephos pressed his foot down until Rythian started to writhe.

"Because, it looks to me like it's _you,"_ Xephos continued. "And it will _continue_ to be you as long as you keep _fighting_ me."

Rythian's eyes were rolling back in his head. His struggles had grown feeble and uncoordinated, and his chest heaved as he desperately tried to breathe.

"If you're going to call me a monster," Xephos hissed, "then I'm damn well going to act like one."

The fingers around his ankle went soft and slid away. Rythian stilled, save for the fruitless hiccuping of his chest.

Xephos took his foot off of Rythian's throat, and the breath that wheezed back into him sounded like the swing of a rusty gate. Xephos stepped back and reactivated the field.

"And speaking of which," he murmured to himself.

His nerves singing, he made his way to the fourth basement level, drumming his fingers on his sword. He was thinking of a good opening line when he tugged open the door to Number Eight's containment room.

The first thing he noticed was that the cell door was propped open; the second was that there were two people inside; and the third was that they were definitively preoccupied. Xephos clapped a hand over his mouth—mostly to keep himself from throwing up on the spot, but it had the added benefit of keeping him quiet—and darted back out into the hall.

"Oh God," he whispered to himself, swallowing back nausea. "Oh, God, that is _wrong."_

It was only as he hurried away, muttering disgustedly under his breath, that he realized how _warm_ his insides felt all of a sudden. . . .

* * *

 

He gave it a good hour and a half before he went down to Lalna's office, firmly _not_ thinking about what he'd seen down on B4. Lalna was at his desk, freshly showered and scribbling intently on a reactor plan. Xephos stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, then cleared his throat.

Lalna looked up and scowled.

"What d'you want?" he asked.

"I er . . . wanted to apologize. Again. For . . . what I did to Rythian."

"Y'know, every time you mention it, it gets harder and harder for me _not_ to strangle you."

Xephos rubbed his mouth and looked away.

"I . . . can understand that. But—I need to know—is there anything else I _shouldn't_ do? So that this . . . _this_ doesn't happen again."

Lalna blinked a couple of times, then said, "Oh. Er, I mean, not that I know of."

Xephos nodded. "Well," he sighed, "there's that, at least."

There was an awkward moment of quiet.

"Was that all?" Lalna asked at last.

"Mostly. I also wanted to know if you'd started working on another clone yet."

Lalna looked down at the plans on his desk. "Not just yet. I've got an idea what went wrong with Lal—er, Number Eight. Think we had the nanites interpolating a bit too much and some things went wonky because of it. Haven't actually, er, _started_ on anything yet, but there's, y'know, that."

"Good to know," Xephos said. It certainly would explain why Number Eight remembered things he shouldn't, if the nanites had accidentally bridged gaps that weren't supposed to be bridged. "I suppose the brain construction will take longer, but it's worth it to prevent, er, insanity."

"Yeah, prob'ly," Lalna admitted. "Think I'm gonna put the project on hold until Rythian's well, anyway."

"I really don't think that's—"

"Is it your project?" he inquired, and answered himself immediately. "No. Unless you want to do the work, it's on hold, because I've got to _sleep_ sometimes, Christ's sake."

Xephos pinched his lips together, then sighed and shook his head.

"All right. I suppose we'll just . . . hope no one dies, in the mean time. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I wish you'd stop saying that," Lalna said. "It's bloody annoying."

"Yes, well. Er. I'll just be going then, shall I?"

"If you like."

Xephos hesitated. There were fresh bruises blooming on Lalna's neck that made his stomach churn, and stirred up a little filament of something cold and steely. He half turned to go, then stopped.

"Oh, and Lalna," he said over his shoulder. "If you leave Number Eight's door open again, I'm going to lock you in there with him."

The look of abject horror on Lalna's face made all the discomfort and disgust of the past hours entirely worthwhile.

* * *

 

When the alarm went off, it did not come as a surprise. Xephos sighed and set down his pen, strapped on his sword, and headed down to the monitor room. He briefly considered calling security to back him up, but he had built up an arsenal of stop-in-your-tracks statements to use on Lalna; plus, he had a sword, and Lalna, while rash and angry, did have _some_ sense of self-preservation.

He threw open the door, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and stopped like he'd hit a brick wall.

Honeydew was sitting in the midst of electronic wreckage, blood on his knuckles and tears on his face. There was broken glass all over the floor, loose wires dangling from beneath the desks, chairs overturned and keyboards shattered.

Xephos stared. An uncomfortable warmth bubbled in his stomach, something between embarrassment and shame. His boots crunching on the broken glass, he crossed to Honeydew and squatted in front of him.

"Hey," he said, as gently as he could.

"It's not _fair!"_ Honeydew wailed. "It's not bloody _fair!"_

"I know," Xephos said. "But it's necessary."

Honeydew's palms struck him in the chest and sent him tumbling back. The dwarf shot to his feet and glowered down at him.

 _"How dare you?"_ he snarled. "How fucking _dare_ you say that to my fucking face? _Necessary?_ You call what you did to him—what you're doing to him—you call that— _necessary?"_

"Honeydew—" There was a piece of glass stuck in the back of his left leg, dribbling blood down his thigh.

"Shut up! Shut _up,_ for fuck's sake, shut the _fuck_ up!"

"Just let me—"

"I'll let you feel my fuckin' boot, is what I'll let you do, you—you—you bloody _monster!"_

Cold lightning snapped out through Xephos's body, and he got to his feet under its power.

"Don't," he growled, _"ever,_ call me that again."

Honeydew kicked him in the shin. Xephos shrieked and hopped backwards, clutching his shin.

"What the hell?" he cried. Every movement sent little sparks of pain shooting out from the glass in his leg.

"I'll call you whatever I damn well please!" Honeydew shot, but some of the venom had gone out of his voice.

"Honeydew, what in the hell are you _doing_ here?"

"What're _you_ doing here?"

"That doesn't—look, I knew Lalna would—it's just a precaution, I didn't want anyone to get hurt—"

_"Rythian's bloody hurt!"_

"He's—he's—" _Fine,_ he wanted to say, but the feverish warmth of his throat wouldn't let it pass. "Look, Honeydew, you shouldn't _be_ here. And you definitely shouldn't be trying to let him out!"

"I wanted to let him hold his fuckin' cat, all right? And I halfway don't give a damn what he does after that, 'cause you—you probably deserve it!"

"You don't—wait, wait wait wait. His _cat?"_

"Yeah, his fuckin' cat. Or were you too busy bein' crazy to remember stuff like cats?"

"I didn't know he . . . his _cat?_ You brought a—a _cat_ in here?"

Honeydew's face went dark. "You lay one fuckin' _finger_ on that cat—"

"Oh, for _fuck's sake,_ Honeydew!" Xephos exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt the cat. What's _wrong_ with you?"

"Yeah, well you said you weren't gonna hurt Rythian, neither, and see how _that's_ ended up."

"Look, can we—can we just, maybe, go _get_ the cat? Before the Flux that's all over the goddamn walls gets it?"

Honeydew opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then shut it with a snap.

"Fine. But _I'm_ pickin' her up, and you're gonna stand back and keep quiet."

Xephos rolled his eyes, but he said, "All right. Come on." He held the door open, and Honeydew marched through.

In Rythian's room, very little had changed since Xephos's last visit. Rythian was still on the floor—conscious now, but only just—and there was a little gray kitten rubbing its face on the forcefield near him. Xephos stopped just inside the door, in the vain hope that Rythian wouldn't see him.

Rythian saw him. He had been crying, and he started again now.

"No," he choked out. "No, no _no,_ please, no, not her."

Xephos raised his hands. Shame was mouthing at his insides, and his skin was flushed.

"I won't," he said.

"Goddamn right you won't," Honeydew grumbled. He hurried over to the forcefield and scooped up the kitten. "I'm takin' her back. Won't let anythin' happen to her, swear on my life."

The moment the cat had left his immediate field of view, Rythian had deflated, sagging to the floor like a punctured balloon. The fingers of one hand were still pressed to the field, white with the pressure.

Something boiled over inside Xephos, and as Honeydew stomped back towards the door, he let it steam out of his mouth.

"Wait," he said.

Rythian let out a hiccup of a sob and curled into himself. Honeydew didn't so much as pause until Xephos put a hand on his shoulder.

"Honeydew, _wait."_

"I swore on my fuckin' _life,"_ the dwarf snapped. "So whatever fucked up shit you're plannin', you're gonna have to go through me first."

Xephos swallowed. "I just . . . want to let him hold his cat," he said. His voice was little more than a whisper.

Honeydew stared at him.

"You . . . you do?" he asked at last.

"Yes," said Xephos. "Yes, good God, how could I not?"

"But the . . . thing."

Xephos reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote.

"I've got a thing," he said.

There were tears in Honeydew's eyes, but he set the cat down. She immediately scampered back over to Rythian.

By the time she got there, the field was gone.

The cat shoved her head under Rythian's arm and wriggled into the hollow beneath his body. Xephos could hear her purring clear across the room. Rythian started sobbing again, and gathered the cat to his chest, and kissed her head.

"Oh, Julie," he mumbled, "oh, sweet girl, you're so big and strong, my little Julie, my sweet girl. . . ."

Xephos gave him five minutes. Five minutes for the sobbing to quiet, five minutes for the cat to start squirming, five minutes for a lost lifetime of affection.

Then he turned to Honeydew and murmured, "I think it's time for Julie to go home."

Honeydew shook his head and folded his arms.

"Honeydew, please."

"I'm not takin' his cat."

"I have to put the field back up."

"Like hell you do."

Xephos pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I . . . I'm _going_ to put the field back up. I don't think any of us want the cat to be in there when I do."

Honeydew glared at him, then stumped over to Rythian and crouched down. Words were spoken, too soft for Xephos to hear. The cat was reluctantly given over to Honeydew. Honeydew stepped back, cradling her to his chest.

Sluggish, feverish, Xephos slipped a hand into his pocket and pressed the button. The field popped back on. Rythian remained unmoving on the floor. After a still and silent moment, Honeydew turned away.

As he walked past Xephos to the door, he spat, "This don't fix anythin'."

The door clicked shut. Xephos watched Rythian, and Rythian lay still.

He turned to go, placing his fingers on the door handle.

"Xephos," said Rythian.

He stopped, his blood all turned to water and his body flooded with sunlight.

"Thank you."

Xephos had to swallow three times before he could get his voice to work.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

Rythian did not reply, and Xephos made his escape before he drowned in his own shame.

 


	18. Of Gods and Men

_Dear Diary,_

_Right, okay, so I've got a plan. It's a really fuckin' shitty plan, but it's a plan, and it's better than nothin', and if I don't do somethin' I'm gonna lose my fuckin' marbles. _

_First thing I've got to do is get Rythian out. I know Xeph's got the thingy that does the thing, all I've got to do is get it off of him. Still working on that bit._

_Then I've got to convince Rythian not to kill anybody. Again, not sure how, but he's sure as hell not going to change his mind about it while he's stuck in a box with Xeph and Lalna bein' shitty to him. Get him home, give him his cat to hold, maybe some hot chocolate or somethin' and like a shitload of Jaffas, and then he'll not want to kill anybody. As much. Probably._

_After that, I'll get Lalna in on it, if I can. Speakin' of people wantin' to kill people. Which he doesn't, yet, or I at least I think he don't, but I'll be damned if Xeph don't make it tempting sometimes._

_I didn't mean that._

_Maybe I can get Minty to like, mediate, or somethin'? We'll all meet up at her place, and have a couple drinks, and hash it all out, and it'll all be fine and nobody'll get hurt and Xeph can start getting  less crazy instead of  more.  _

_Or at least less scared. He's so fuckin' scared that half the time he ain't even home, y'know, in his head. I mean he sort of is, bein' conscious and all. It's just that he's hiding, like, and I don't like the thing he's hidin' inside._

_'S not much of a plan, but it's what I've got, and it's what I'm damn well gonna do._

* * *

 

There was a stranger in the Captive Creeper, and he stuck out like a butterfly in a nest of caterpillars.

"Oy," Honeydew said, leaning over the bar to mutter to Minty. "Who's the flashy fella?"

Minty rolled her eyes. "His name's Ridge, and he's every bit as pompous as he looks. Don't take anything he offers you."

"Yeah? How come?"

"Because he's a bastard," Minty said. "Refill?"

"Yes please."

She topped up his ale, then moved off to tend to the other customers. Honeydew watched her move down the bar, and accidentally made eye-contact with Ridge, who had been watching him. The man grinned and waved, gold glinting on his fingers. Honeydew waggled a few fingers back, distinctly uncomfortable. He resisted the temptation to bury his face in his hands when Ridge picked up his drink and sauntered over.

"Hey, you're that dwarf from the Labs, aren't you," Ridge said. He sat next to Honeydew and offered a hand. "Ridge."

"Uh, hi," said Honeydew. "Honeydew." He shook Ridge's hand. It was like shaking hands with a stovetop.

"Heard there's been some bad business going on up there," Ridge remarked, leaning an elbow on the bar. The varnish turned white where he touched it. "That's why I'm here, actually. I figured you guys could use a little divine intervention."

"Diving what?" said Honeydew.

Ridge's eyes glittered. They were coal-black, but gleamed with gold when the light hit them just right.

"I can see you're a smart little guy. So I'm going to let you in on a little secret, okay?"

"No," said Honeydew. "I've had enough of bloody secrets, you keep yours. Don't want any part of 'em."

Ridge blinked at him. "Oh," he said. He picked his charm back up and barreled on. "Hey, I respect that. Bad business going on, huh? But that's why I'm here. I want to help! Your Lab's done a lot of good work, and I'd hate for something to happen to it. Or the people working there. Word travels, you know. Now I can't say I know what's going on, but I'm sure—and I swear this is true—I can fix it."

Without his consent, Honeydew's heart leapt in his chest, and he blurted, "You _can?"_

Ridge grinned. His teeth were white and perfect and a little too sharp. "Guaranteed. I _am_ a god, after all."

Honeydew scowled at him, eyes narrowed. "Uh- _huh._ So how come you're hangin' about in a bar and talkin' to me?"

He spread his hands, leaning back. "I don't like to get too directly involved in things. I'm pretty much all-powerful, but even _I_ can't be everywhere at once. _But,_ if someone, someone who knew what the real root of the problem was, someone who was on the ground, at the source, who really _wanted_ to fix everything—if somebody like that wanted to, oh I don't know, borrow a little godly power, well! I have plenty to spare."

Honeydew sat forward, his ale forgotten on the bar.

"Yeah? What kinds of stuff could—er, a person—do with this . . . god-stuff you've got?"

"Oh, anything. Anything at all. Control the weather, conjure diamonds from thin air, cure all ills, anything you wanted."

"Turn off machines? Keep people from hurtin' each other?"

Ridge scoffed. "Easy-peasy. Like I said, _anything_ you wanted. You could make it so no one even _wanted_ to hurt anybody else, if it struck your fancy."

"And if—a person, some random person, we don't know 'em—if somebody wanted to, er, do some borrowin', what'd be the terms?"

"No terms," Ridge assured him, "no conditions. First taste is always free."

Honeydew frowned. "Seems too good to be true, if I'm honest."

He grinned. "Well, that's just a symptom of your life being too hard! You deserve some nice things every once in a while. You deserve a chance to fix—whatever's wrong, you still haven't told me. And hey, you get to keep the powers, too. In case something else goes wrong later on."

"Yeah? What's the catch?"

"No catch. You get the fix-it powers, I save the world by proxy, and everybody goes home happy. Simple as that."

He wanted, desperately, to agree; because he could _fix_ everything, he could see to it that Rythian was freed, and that no one was hurt, and that it all came to a peaceful and happy conclusion. He could fix his brain, and Lalna's, and Minty's. He could—and this was a dangerous thought, but once he'd had it he could not let it go—he could _fix Xephos._ He could break this horrific cycle and free them, all of them, to live happily ever after.

"No," he said.

Ridge's jaw dropped. "No— _no? No,_ seriously? What's—honestly, and I mean this in the nicest way possible—what's wrong with you?"

Honeydew turned back to his ale, keeping Ridge in his peripheral vision.

"If there's one fuckin' thing I've learned from all this bollocks," he said, "it's that _nothin'_ comes without a catch. And if you're tellin' me there ain't one, it means it's gotta be so bad that I'd never agree if I knew what it was. So the answer's _no,_ and you can fuck right off."

Ridge suddenly looked a lot less friendly. Gold flashed off the darkness of his eyes.

"You're going to regret this," he said. "And that's not a threat. That's just facts."

"Mate, pretty sure I'd be regrettin' it either way. If you don't mind, I'm tryin' to have a fuckin' drink here."

"You—" Ridge began, rising, but Minty arrived just in time to cut him off.

"Are you harassing my other customers again?" she demanded, planting a fist on her hip. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, and you've only been here two hours. I see you doing it again, and I'm going to throw you out on your great godly ear."

Ridge glowered down at her. "I wouldn't threaten me, if I were you."

"Yeah?" said Minty. "Gonna strike me down with lightning? Love to see you try."

Ridge grumbled something about _unfathomable power_ and skulked back to his own seat, dragging his drink behind him.

"What an ass," Minty remarked. She looked Honeydew up and down, then asked, "Everything all right?"

"No," Honeydew answered. "Nothin' is."

* * *

 

Nilesy had gone, but he had left a note.

It sat alone in an empty room, the only thing on the bare kitchen counter, the only thing in the bare house. Honeydew found it after only a few minutes of tipsy wandering, because he couldn't have gone back to the labs and he didn't want to go home and he hadn't known Nilesy was gone already.

The note was addressed to him.

 

_Honeydew,_

_You've probably noticed by now, but I've headed off with Lomadia to Owl Island. I don't expect I'll be back any time soon—loads to do, you know, and all that—and since I didn't get to see you before I left I thought I'd write a little note just in case you came by._

_I've taken Julie—Rythian's cat—with me. I didn't much want to, but there really wasn't anywhere else for her to go, since (according to you) she can't stay with Rythian, and she's DEFINITELY not staying with Lalna, since he's got a god damn nuclear reactor in his basement and I think he's building a lot of bombs, or at least I'm pretty sure that's what he's been setting off in the desert that's been making craters. So no cats for him. For obvious reasons. Tell Rythian I'm very sorry, and that I hope he'll understand, and that I wish I could tell him where to come and visit but I haven't got the coordinates as such and I don't have a map on me and I don't think Lom wants visitors anyways so._

_Just tell him I'm sorry, and that I'll take very good care of Julie._

_And I'm sorry, to you, too. I did mean to say goodbye in person, but. Things were a bit hectic, between all the cats and everything, and we were in a bit of a rush, long way to go, et cetera, and I didn't want to go looking for you at the Labs because they give me the creeps, and basically I'm sorry, and goodbye, but I'll visit, so not REALLY goodbye, just See You Later I guess._

_I hope it all works out. If you ever need a pool, you know who to call, etc. And if you ever want to come and raise owls and/or cats, well. I think Lom would be all right with that. I know I would._

_All the best,_

_—Nilesy_

_P.S. There are two scones in the pantry still if you want them and they haven't gone off by the time you read this. Take care (I will)._

 

Honeydew stared down at the note, vision blurry, hands shaking. He folded it up and slipped it into a pocket, then wandered to the pantry, where, in fact, there were two scones in a little tin. Honeydew prodded one of them, then hung his head and sighed. He closed the tin and slipped that into his pockets, as well.

"Good for you, friend," he murmured, and left the empty little house to its own silence.

* * *

 

It wasn't as though he'd never seen Xephos sleeping before; he'd stood watch countless nights, woken earlier or stayed up later, and any number of other things that had allowed him to see Xephos at his most vulnerable.

The difference was, Xephos had always known he was _there_ before, and now, sneaking into his room in the gray predawn hours, Honeydew felt like he was violating some precious and fragile boundary, like he was breaking an intimate trust.

He felt like a villain.

Xephos snored. He slept with his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands under his cheek. His face looked young and strange with the lines of expression wiped from it. He lay on top of his sheets with his sword leaned up against the wall by his head.

Dwarves, Honeydew reflected, were not made to sneak. He'd left his boots and belts and bandoliers in the hallway, but his breathing was too loud and his footsteps were too heavy and he kept bumping into things in the half-light. Xephos kept his personal quarters messy, possibly as a contrast to the stringent minimalism of his office. Clothes were piled haphazardly in front of the dresser, over-full boxes spilled bits and bobs onto the floor, paintings hung crooked on the walls, discarded pens littered the room like fallen twigs. Honeydew had stepped on just about everything except the actual floor, and there was ink soaking through one of his socks. As he crept towards the lab coat flung over the foot of the bed, his elbow clipped an off-kilter armor stand and made it rattle. He winced and froze, but Xephos didn't so much as twitch an eye, despite the fact that the rattling armor had been louder than several tons of dynamite going off.

His hands were sweating, fingers trembling as he reached out for the white coat. His eyes flicked between the coat and Xephos as he peeled back the folds of cloth and slid his fingers into the pockets, first one, then the other, his heart hammering all the while. The frantic pounding rose to a thunder as he found nothing but lint in the coat's pockets.

Moving as though his bones were made of glass, Honeydew wiped his hands on his trousers and licked his lips. Rooted to the spot, he scanned the room for any sign of the little remote, ever aware of the steady rhythm of Xephos's snoring.

He found the sign he was looking for in the form of a little gray antenna, poking out from between Xephos's folded hands.

If he had been free to speak, he would have started cursing under his breath.

Each step a gamble, he snuck around the bed, his lips pinched tight, sweat leaking into his eyes. Xephos's bed was of a height that it put his folded hands on level with Honeydew's waist. The sense of wrongness, of betrayal, stole over Honeydew again as he stood looking down on Xephos. His fingers twitched. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

Slowly, Honeydew reached out and pinched the little gray wire between his thumb and forefinger. It was so thin and so small that it seemed it would slip from his grasp at the slightest provocation. Still, with every ounce of care he could muster, Honeydew pulled.

A corner of the remote slid out from between Xephos's hands, and then the device stuck. Xephos's brows pinched together, just for a moment, and his fingers curled. Honeydew bit his lip and froze, certain that the sound of his heartbeat alone would wake Xephos.

A minute passed, and then two. Xephos did not stir.

Gritting his teeth, Honeydew pulled on the remote again. The antenna slipped from his fingers, and he wiped his hands on his trousers before gripping it again.

It was like pulling a lion's tooth, and every time the remote caught on Xephos's hands, Honeydew was certain that _this_ was the moment he was going to get bitten, that _this_ tug would get him mauled, that _this_ slip would spell his ruin.

When the remote finally popped free, Honeydew nearly dropped it in shock. He fumbled it between his hands, then clutched it to his chest and held his breath.

Xephos snored on without stirring. Honeydew allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.

He turned and crept back for the door, still wincing at every tiny sound, but moving faster now—if taking the remote from Xephos's hands had not woken him, a few little noises surely wouldn't.

His elbow clipped the unsteady armor stand again as he hurried past. He was five steps from the door, four, three, two—

With a crash like the earth splitting open, the armor stand fell behind him.

Honeydew ran.

His stockinged feet slipped and slid on the polished floors, and he fell down half a flight of stairs when he tripped over his own legs. He heard the stairwell door slam open above him through ringing ears.

 _"Honeydew!"_ Xephos roared. Honeydew got to his feet and kept running.

Down the stairs, skidding out into the hall, scrambling for traction with his hand against the wall, and Xephos gaining on him like an avalanche, not speaking, just _coming_ for him.

Honeydew flung open the door to Rythian's room and mashed the button on the little remote. His momentum carried him staggering across the floor.

Rythian caught him.

His feet left the ground, and the remote was ripped from his hands, and an arm locked across his throat and pinned him to a cold and bony chest.

"I am sorry," Rythian murmured.

 _"Ghhk!"_ said Honeydew, grabbing the arm over his throat.

Xephos came barreling in and skidded to a halt. His hair was mussed, his clothes in disarray, his eyes wild.

"One step closer," said Rythian, "and I will snap his neck."

"Put him _down,"_ Xephos panted. His hand strayed to a sword that was not there. "Rythian, put him _down._ He has nothing to do with this."

Rythian squeezed. Honeydew choked and kicked his feet.

"One more word," Rythian said, "and he dies."

Silence fell, whiting out the sounds of breathing, the hammering of Honeydew's heart, the quiet background hum of the Labs.

Xephos straightened, and raised his hands. He took one long step to the side, and then another. Rythian turned with him, keeping Honeydew firmly between himself and Xephos. Four long steps, and Xephos stopped.

"In the corner," Rythian instructed, not harshly.

Xephos's jaw worked for a moment, and then he sidled on, all the way across the room until his shoulder touched the far corner. Then, and only then, did Rythian begin to edge towards the door.

"You'll have him back when I'm gone," he said. "I'll send him home. If he wants to go."

There was a cold fire in Xephos's eyes that almost, _almost_ made Honeydew glad to have Rythian at his back.

They edged to the door, always facing Xephos, with Xephos always watching them, unblinking. Rythian must have reached behind his own back to open the door, because suddenly it _was_ open and they were out in the hallway and Rythian was backing towards the stairs. The pressure on Honeydew's throat lessened when Rythian wrapped his other arm around his waist.

"You've lost your fucking mind," Honeydew gasped, strained.

"Not yet," Rythian replied.

"You were gonna _kill_ me!"

"I still might have to."

Honeydew kicked at him, driving his heels back over and over in rapid succession. The arm around his throat pressed down again, and he stilled.

"When we're out of here," Rythian said, "we're going to Nilesy's. I'm getting my cat, and you're taking these _things_ off of me, and then I am leaving, and if you are very lucky you will never see me again."

The door swung open, and Xephos stepped out into the hall. His hands were by his sides, now, and although he stopped in his tracks when he saw Rythian, there was a promise of movement in the tension of his spine.

Rythian squeezed again, and Honeydew wriggled.

"Stay there if you want him to live," Rythian warned.

Xephos looked down, meeting Honeydew's eyes. Slowly, he raised a hand to his mouth, curled his fingers, and pulled down.

 _"Don't you dare,"_ Rythian snarled, and his voice sent raw terror searing down Honeydew's spine, and his arm crushed Honeydew's throat flat, and in panic Honeydew clawed at Rythian's face.

His fingers caught cloth, and the cloth tore away, and Rythian dropped him.

Gasping and coughing on his knees, Honeydew could only hear the quick slap of bare feet on the floor, and then Xephos streaked past him, and then there was an unearthly scream and a thud that shook the floor.

And then Xephos's voice, distorted by rage, twisted into something ruinous and vile.

_"Not—him, never—him, how—fucking—dare—you, not—him, you—fucking—monster—"_

Honeydew staggered to his feet, his head spinning. Xephos was pinning Rythian to the floor, hitting him in the face over and over again while Rythian clutched both hands over his mouth. There was a _snap_ as a fragile finger bone broke under the hail of blows, and all the while Xephos poured forth a litany of curses with tears streaming down his face.

 _He's going to kill him,_ Honeydew realized.

And then he thought, _No he's bloody well not._

Unsteady on his feet, Honeydew weaved down the hall. He caught Xephos by the arm, and Xephos went right on striking Rythian until Honeydew physically hauled him off. Xephos collapsed against him, sobbing, clutching him as a drowning man clutches the last piece of driftwood.

"You— _idiot,"_ Xephos wailed, his face buried in Honeydew's chest. "You bloody _idiot!"_

"Let him go," Honeydew croaked, clinging to Xephos with every ounce of strength left in his limbs. "Fuck's sake, Xeph, just let him _go._ It don't matter. It don't _matter._ You don't have to do this no more."

Xephos hiccuped, shaking his head.

"No," he moaned, "no, I _can't,_ I _have_ to. . . ."

"I ain't gonna let it happen, friend," Honeydew promised him. "You ain't him, and you ain't gonna be. We're gonna fix this. Just—fuck's sake, just _stop."_

He stilled, and his breathing went slow and regular, and his grip did not loosen by even an inch.

"So _that's_ what he said to you," he said, and his voice was cold.

 


	19. In Loving Memory

_Research Journal 13_

 

_Day 312_

_Finally, finally got the bloody reactor working. The lifetime of the cryotheum is long enough that, now that we've got a useful amount of the stuff, we shouldn't need to up the rate of production to keep the supply constant. The reactor is running fenominally, at least three times as efficient as the old water-cooled model, and we've got more power than we know what to do with. _

_So now that that's done, I have to get back to work on the cloning thing._

_I keep meaning to scrap ~~Lalnable~~ Number Eight. I just haven't gotten around to it yet. I know what went wrong—the interpolation base was too wide and short-circuited his brain, and Xephos agrees with that and he's looked through all the numbers too—so it'll be easy to fix with the next version. The testificate test subjects seem to be doing much better with the nanites—apart from the trauma of actually dying, they come out the other side of the process pretty much intact. As far as I can tell. They aren't exactly fantastic at comunication. _

_I really ought to scrap Number Eight. He's outlived his usefulness and is really more trouble than he's worth. Maybe I could get Xeph to do it. He seems keen enough._

_And it would keep him off Rythian for a little while, at least._

* * *

 

The room was empty.

Lalna stared at the single, brand-new monitor, his wheels spinning as he tried to process the image in front of him. Mechanically, he walked across the hall and threw open the door.

The room was empty.

His vision went red. Time must have passed, his body must have moved, but the fog surrounding him was so thick that he scarcely noticed. The next thing he knew, he had slammed open the door to Xephos's office and was standing inside, fists clenched, blood boiling.

"What've you done with him?"

Xephos did not look up. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, I'm afraid."

"Rythian. Where the hell is he?"

"Ah," said Xephos, and set his pen down. He took a slow breath, then looked up at Lalna.

"He tried to kill Honeydew. Did you know that? The poor, stupid idiot tried to let him out, and Rythian nearly killed him for the trouble. Nearly strangled him, right in front of me. So let me ask you, Lalna: what do _you_ think I did with Rythian?"

Lalna's heart stopped, and his body went cold. He gaped at Xephos, and whispered through numb lips, "My God. You've killed him."

 _"What?_ No I haven't _killed_ him, what's _wrong_ with you? I let him _go._ Christ, some people just aren't worth saving, and he's one of them."

He blinked a couple of times while he waited for his blood to start flowing again.

"Oh," he said.

 _"Killed him,_ fuck's sake. I'm not a _monster."_

"I um. Sorry. I just . . . I mean, if it'd been me—"

Xephos waved a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. If someone had almost killed Rythian, I'm sure your vengeance would have been swift and merciless. Fortunately, I'm not you. And before you ask, no, I don't know where he's gone, and I don't expect we'll ever see him again, either."

"And he just— _left?_ Just like that? Without killing anybody? Without even saying _goodbye?"_

"Apparently."

"Why?"

"Astonishingly, Lalna, I didn't think it wise to bring it up to him."

"Oh," Lalna said again. "Is . . . is Honeydew all right?"

Xephos's lips pinched together, and he turned his eyes back to his desk. "He's . . . recovering. It was a—a blow to him, you know? Having his trust broken like that. He's taking a bit of time off, I think. I'm not pushing him." He brightened, and asked, "Incidentally, how would you feel about starting work on a Jaffa factory?"

"A what? Er, I mean, I am a bit, y'know, busy, at the moment."

"Of course. Well. At any rate, he's off . . . I suppose _on holiday_ is the best term for it. He'll be all right, I think. Given time."

"Where's he gone?"

Xephos shrugged. "He didn't say, and I . . . well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't really want to know. It's difficult enough as it is to leave him alone, I imagine it would be nearly impossible if I knew where to look."

"That's . . . understandable. I suppose." He fidgeted. "Look, I'm . . . sorry. For jumping to conclusions like that."

He waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Like I said, I understand where you were coming from." He looked up. "And I am sorry, about how all this has gone. That I . . . couldn't help him."

Lalna shook his head. "At this point? If I'm honest, I'm glad you stopped trying."

Xephos's jaw clenched, and something cold flickered across his expression. Then he shrugged, and the thread of animosity was gone.

"At this point, so am I." He sighed. "Well. Yes. At any rate, I suppose it will be easier to get things done, now. Without either of them about. Not that I don't enjoy having Honeydew here, it's just—"

"He makes it difficult to get things done," Lalna finished for him.

"Yes, that."

Lalna fidgeted, and Xephos frowned down at his hands.

"Well. Er. I um. I s'pose I'll be going then," said Lalna.

"Ah. Yes. I'm sure you've still got plenty on your plate."

He snorted. "More than plenty. Got to start knocking up the next clone."

Xephos looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. Lalna went red.

"That is _not_ what I meant, and you know it," he snapped.

"I didn't say a thing," Xephos said, but he was smiling.

* * *

 

Lalnable was on his feet before the door even swung shut behind Lalna.

"What's happened?" he demanded, a bright edge of panic in his voice. "You've got that _look,_ something's happened."

Despite the number of times it had happened, the display of perspicacity still made Lalna's skin crawl.

"Er," he said, scratching the back of his head, "Rythian's . . . gone."

Lalnable cursed with such venom that it made Lalna take a step back. The clone kicked the wall of his prison, then kicked it two more times for good measure.

 _"Where?"_ he snapped. "Where's he taken him?"

"Nobody's taken him anywhere," Lalna said. "Xephos—Xeph let him go. Finally."

"Like fucking _hell_ he did!" Lalnable cried. "He's _done_ something to him, put him somewhere, somewhere you can't help him, he's _killing him—"_

 _"Would_ you shut up?" Lalna interrupted. "Look, I'm not pleased about it either, but—"

"Not pleased? _Not pleased?_ Let me the _fuck_ out of here, you bastard, if you're not going to do anything about it then for _fuck's sake,_ let me—"

"Are you crying?"

Lalnable kicked the door of his cell so hard that it made the whole prison wobble.

"He's _killing him,_ Lalna, and you're just _standing_ there and I can't _do_ anything and who even _gives_ a fuck if I'm bloody well crying because tomorrow morning Rythian's going to turn up _dead!"_

Lalna folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He felt like he was going to be sick, and no amount of reminding himself that Number Eight was insane would make the feeling go away, mostly because he wasn't positive that _Lalnable_ was insane.

"Look, I—I've talked to him, all right?" Lalna said. "Xephos. And I really don't think he's killed Rythian."

"Not _yet,"_ Lalnable spat. "I'm sure he'll get round to it."

"Rythian tried to kill Honeydew," Lalna mentioned, as though this helped.

The flood of fervent curses that spilled from Lalnable's mouth did nothing to soothe Lalna's nerves. He swallowed down a slow-rising panic and dug his fingers into his sides.

"Look, what I'm saying is, Rythian was out of his box, right? He had to be, if he nearly killed Honeydew. Right? And I'm not dead, and Xephos isn't dead, and I'm telling you, _Rythian_ isn't dead, he's just— _left,_ all right? He's left and he's not coming back."

"You want to know why you're not dead? And Xephos isn't dead? It's because Rythian's chained to a table somewhere with his heart in one hand and his lungs in the other and Xephos is bloody well waiting for his grip to run out! _He tried to kill Honeydew,_ are you even _listening_ to yourself? Rythian hasn't gone anywhere, he's _here,_ some-fucking-where, and Xephos is killing him as slowly as he can manage because he _tried to kill Honeydew._ What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?"

"He couldn't—that isn't—look, Rythian was out, all right? And if he'd wanted to kill anybody, he would've done it, and nobody could've stopped him!"

"That's fucking bollocks, and you know it," Lalnable retorted. "He could barely fucking _stand,_ and that was when _I_ saw him, which was fucking _weeks_ ago. If you're not bloody well going to find him, then let me out and _I'll_ do it."

"There's no point," Lalna said, although he didn't sound convinced, even to himself. "He's not here."

"He won't be for long, if you don't fucking _do_ something!"

"Look, shut up, all right?" Lalna snapped, pushing himself off the wall. "Just—just bloody well shut up. I came in here to tell you that—that your time's up, right? You've outlived your—whatever it was we were keeping you alive for, and you're done. All right? You're due to be scrapped. Thought I'd just give you that common court—"

 _"To hell with me!"_ Lalnable roared, overturning his whole bookcase with a thunderous crash. "Rythian is going to _die._ Xephos is going to _torture_ him to _death._ Fucking _do_ something, you—you selfish—god _dammit,_ do _something,_ fuck's sake, listen to me. . . ."

The clone's knees went out from under him and he sank to the floor, tears streaming down his blotchy face and snot slithering over his lips. He fisted both hands in his hair and curled in on himself, and for a moment he looked so much like Rythian that it made Lalna's soul hurt.

"I . . . look, I'll . . . I'll have a look round," he stammered, unfolding his arms and halfway holding his hands out to Lalnable. "I'll see what I can—look, please stop crying, you're—we're really honestly hideous when we cry, it's—"

"I'll cry as much as I bloody well want to," Lalnable choked, "and fuck you."

Lalna opened and closed his mouth three times before he managed to find a response to that.

"He's . . . he's going to be all right," he promised. "Rythian. I'm not going to let anything happen to him."

"Bit fucking late for that."

"Look, shut up, I'm _trying,_ all right? You'll be dead tomorrow but I'm going to find Rythian anyway, even though you're completely mad, because—just _because!_ So you haven't got to be a dick about it."

Lalnable shook his head and sniffled, then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

"Tell him _you're_ sorry? For what?"

"For everything."

"Why d'you want to apologize to him for?"

Lalnable glared up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Because _you're_ never going to do it," he said.

"You know what?" Lalna said, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm done. I am absolutely, entirely _done_ with you and all your—your _craziness."_

"I'm not crazy," Lalnable said, "and you know it."

"Tomorrow you'll be dead," he replied, "so it won't much matter, will it."

"If you really thought I was crazy—"

"Shut _up,"_ Lalna growled, rolling his eyes as he turned to go.

"I'd already be dead," Lalnable finished anyway.

Lalna stalked out without a further word, his skin crawling as though it no longer wanted to be a part of him.

* * *

 

That afternoon, he made a cursory search of the Labs, starting with Rythian's old room and ending with the surgical lab where the single, ill-fated experimental session had taken place. He found nothing amiss, nor any sign that either room had been recently occupied. When he inspected the table in the surgical lab, he was shocked to find it in nearly mint condition—he had expected dents, scratches, any and every kind of damage that should have been inflicted from Rythian's struggling. There was nothing, except a few rusty smears of what was probably blood.

The sight made his stomach turn, and he tried not to think about why it unsettled him.

The next day, after initializing the Number Nine clone, he made a rather more thorough search, glancing over his shoulder every so often in response to a paranoia he refused to acknowledge or source. He looked through all of the surgical labs—there was one room, filled with wiring and computers, that set off a violent fight-or-flight reaction in the back of his head for no apparent reason, and though he didn't stay long enough to study it in any detail he could find nothing amiss about it—and then through all of the deep basement rooms, and still found nothing, no sign of Rythian or any foul play.

On the third day, he snuck into the village and prowled through Rythian's old castle. It was full of cobwebs and industrious spiders, and he left faint footprints in the dust on the floor. There were no other footprints, and he had to conclude that no one but the spiders had been inside since Rythian had left over two months ago.

It was a strange feeling, creeping about through Rythian's uninhabited space, and Lalna stayed longer than was strictly necessary, brushing his fingers against the walls and leafing through arcane books (most of which were in Rythian's own hand, and contained disappointingly few references to Lalna himself).

The bedroom still smelled like Rythian, and it was only the presence of a spider the size of his face that had taken up residence between the headboard and the wall that kept Lalna from wrapping himself in the blankets and the smell and drifting away into bittersweet reminiscence for a few hours. He settled for stealing one of the pillows and cradling it to his chest while he sat in a corner.

It started small, just a tickle under his heart, but it grew like a crack in a dam, until Lalna cracked and then shattered and suddenly he was burying his face in a pillow that barely even smelled like Rythian and _sobbing,_ because Rythian was gone, was really, honestly _gone_ and he was not coming back and Lalna was never going to see him again, never going to hold him again, never going to hear him laugh, never going to taste his lips or feel his hands in his hair, was never going to teach him to make bread, would never make him sigh and moan in ecstasy, would never again make him clumsy breakfast and be scolded over the quality of his eggs, would never again—never again— _never again—_

Because Rythian was gone, and he was not coming back, and soon even the pillows wouldn't smell like him anymore.

* * *

 

Four days after he had promised to find Rythian, Lalna gave up looking.

The world was wide, after all, and if Rythian didn't want to be found, no one was going to find him.

And if Xephos had, to take a wild example, burned the body, the ashes would of course be unidentifiable, even to Lalna.

Lalna sat in his office, staring at his bare desk, tapping his fingers on the white-painted wood, chewing the insides of his cheeks. No real work had gotten done in two whole days, and he doubted any would for quite some time.

There was nothing for it. He would have to talk to Xephos.

He had just forced himself to his feet when his door drifted open. His head snapped up, and then his heart stopped.

Rythian was standing on the threshold, tall and thin and dark, his eyes glowing a faint violet in the harsh lighting.

"Y-you're. . . ." Lalna stammered. His voice was scarcely a whisper.

He wondered, vaguely, if he was about to die.

Rythian looked at his feet and frowned, then turned his eyes back to Lalna.

"Lalna?" he guessed.

"Yes," Lalna blurted. "Me, yes, it's me! And you're—you?"

His eyes glazed over for a moment, and he shook himself.

"Yes," he said eventually. "I'm me."

"You're not—going to kill me, are you?"

He frowned again. "No?"

Lalna went straight over the desk and nearly bore Rythian to the floor with the force and enthusiasm of his embrace. He swept Rythian inside and kicked the door shut, his face buried in Rythian's shoulder, drunk on the smell and feel and _warmth_ of him, and he was still too thin but he was upright and he was breathing and he was _there,_ and Lalna thought he was going to come apart at the seams for sheer joy.

Rythian's fingertips came down feather-light on his hips, and Lalna grabbed his face and kissed him through the mask, and he breathed for the first time in two months and he was crying and he didn't care, and he had to prop both of them up against a wall because he couldn't really stand up any more and as nice as it would have been to lie with Rythian he didn't feel the floor was the right place, so he settled for setting Rythian's back against the nearest vertical surface and setting himself against Rythian.

"Where have you _been?"_ he gasped. His hands were shaking, and he could not have kept them off of Rythian for the life of him.

Rythian took a breath to reply and then sighed it all right back out again when Lalna pulled away his mask and kissed his neck.

"Here?" he managed at last.

He might have said more, but Lalna had been reminded of the existence of his lips and kissed them, not so much drinking in the sensation as guzzling it. Rythian made a quiet, surprised noise in the back of his throat, and all the rest of Lalna's questions fell directly out the back of his head.

Lalna pressed against Rythian, his hands having found a home on slender hips, and kissed the warm skin of his neck until Rythian's head tipped back and his fingers dug into Lalna's shoulders.

"Please," Lalna breathed, desperate and wound tight and _aching,_ "please, for the love of _God,_ tell me you're ready."

Rythian's quiet, helpless whimper was all the consent he needed.

* * *

 

In the small bedroom behind Lalna's office, cradled in the warm dark, Rythian lay perfectly still in Lalna's arms.

Lalna kissed him behind the ear.

"I missed you," he said.

Rythian breathed with the slow ebb and flow of a tide.

"You were amazing," Lalna told him—and he had been, and Lalna was still glowing from it, and even now it was scattering his concentration to have so much of Rythian's skin against his own.

He would have thought Rythian was asleep, except for the tension of his spine, pressed against Lalna's chest and belly. Lalna kissed him behind the ear again. Rythian did not respond.

"Was it good?" he asked. "For you?"

Breathe in, breathe out, and he wasn't _moving,_ and something in Lalna's stomach had gone sour underneath all the warm glow.

"Ryth?" said Lalna. He nudged Rythian's leg with his knee. "Come on, talk to me."

Rythian breathed. Tiny muscles in his back had started twitching, drawing a random map of tension against Lalna's skin.

Lalna squeezed him, and planted a row of kisses on the back of his neck, but there was no change—no motion, no relaxation, not even a hitch in his breath.

"Ryth. You're . . . sort of worrying me. Say _something,_ please? I didn't think I was _that_ awful, I mean, was I?"

Nothing.

It was, perhaps, a long shot, but the reaction had been immediate and intense when Lalnable had said it, and Lalna figured he had very little to lose.

"I'm sorry," he ventured. "About the cat."

Rythian stirred, ever so slightly, just a little twist and lift of his head and a change in the pace of his breathing. Then he said, softly:

"What cat?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, that was rape.


	20. Sense of Self

_Log 13_

_It's fascinating, really, the lies we tell ourselves for the sake of our own survival._

 

_End Log 13_

* * *

 

"So _that's_ what he said to you," Xephos said, gone numb.

Honeydew stiffened. "Don't you use that tone of voice on _me,_ spaceman," he scolded.

Xephos made to stand. Honeydew's grip tightened, holding him down.

"Honeydew," he said. "Let go, please."

"You won't touch him," Honeydew said.

"Honeydew," Xephos said again, "let me go."

He felt Honeydew turn his head. To his left, Rythian started buzzing. Honeydew turned his head back.

"You've knocked him unconscious," the dwarf remarked.

"Which is likely why we're not dead," Xephos answered. "I would really like to stand up now, Honeydew."

"All right, but if I think for a _second_ you're going for him, I'm gonna kick you in the nads."

"Fine," said Xephos. Honeydew's grip loosened. Xephos stood and brushed himself off. His knuckles were bleeding. It didn't hurt. He looked over at Rythian.

Rythian's hands had slid from his mouth, revealing the gaping void underneath. At the first touch of Xephos's gaze, he started to shiver and buzz. Xephos stared until the unconscious body tried to teleport away.

"Funny thing, Honeydew," Xephos remarked, still staring. "I don't really have to touch him."

 _vwip, paff!_ went Rythian's body. Xephos clasped his hands behind his back.

"Quit," said Honeydew.

"It doesn't hurt him," Xephos lied. "But it will keep him unconscious."

"Oy, I said _quit."_

"He tried to kill you, Honeydew."

"Yeah, I was _there,_ ya twit." _vwip, paff!_ "Would you quit _lookin'_ at him?"

"He could have killed you," Xephos mused. "He could have killed me, for that matter. I wonder why he didn't."

An iron boot cracked against his shin. Without taking his eyes off of Rythian, Xephos brought his knee up sharply into Honeydew's chin. Honeydew toppled. Xephos stooped down and hoisted him up, settling him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Hit me," Honeydew mumbled, shaking his head.

"Well spotted," said Xephos. He put a finger to the little radio in his ear. "Security? Yes, it's me. Would you mind terribly sending someone down to B8? There's a bit of a mess that needs cleaning up, and if you could move it up to 202 for me, that would be just lovely. You can have the rest of the night off, if you like. And perhaps if you found employment elsewhere before tomorrow morning, that would be for the best. Thank you."

He cut the connection before the frazzled guard had the chance to reply. As he headed for the stairs, he kicked Rythian in the head one last time, just for good measure.

"Bloody _hit_ me," Honeydew slurred again.

"If a tree falls in the forest and no one remembers it," Xephos posited, "did it ever make a sound?"

* * *

 

It was past noon, and Xephos felt like he would never need to sleep again. It was just about the only thing he felt, as he shut the door behind him and turned towards the examination table.

Rythian stiffened, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The testificates had replaced his mask, either before they had moved him or at some point in the last five hours.

"So you're awake," Xephos remarked.

"Unfortunately," said Rythian.

"You know, I honestly expected you to kill me."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not sure _disappointed_ is the word I would choose. I'm rather more puzzled than anything else. You very well could have, and yet you didn't."

"I don't owe you anything," Rythian stated. "Least of all an explanation."

"You managed to pick up Honeydew and carry him about," Xephos continued anyway, circling the table. "I'm sure you could have snapped my neck. And yet. You just lay there and took it. Was it the mask? I understand it's difficult for you to function without it, but I'd think you would have just slipped it back on and gotten on with things. Rather than cowering on the floor while I beat you unconscious. Which, while immensely satisfying, was a bit of a surprise."

"What did you expect?"

"A fight, for one. You haven't pulled any punches before. Except for the kitten, I suppose. Oh, and that one time I stood on your throat until you passed out." He smiled. "Upon consideration, maybe you lying on the floor and crying isn't so unprecedented after all."

"If all you're going to do is gloat," Rythian said, "would you mind knocking me out again first?"

"I'm only trying to understand, Rythian. After all that talk about killing me and Lalna, you can see, I'm sure, why I'd be a bit confused as to why you didn't follow through when you had the chance." He cocked his head to the side. "For that matter, I've never really understood why you kept talking about it. Lalna would have let you out half a hundred times by now if you hadn't insisted on threatening his life at every turn."

Rythian sighed. "Because I meant it," he said. "And sometimes I didn't want to."

Xephos paused, and some kind of feeling stirred beneath the numb surface of him. It was swallowed again in a moment, and he shook his head.

"Makes enough sense, I suppose. Still does very little to explain why I'm not dead."

"I don't owe you—"

"An explanation, yes, so you've said," Xephos interrupted. "I hope you'll forgive me if I talk to myself, since you're being singularly unhelpful."

"If this was supposed to be torture, then congratulations, you've succeeded."

He laughed. "No no, Rythian. _This_ is meant to be torture."

Xephos reached out and slipped the mask off. Rythian went stiff, and Xephos turned away.

"I've been wondering," he said, pulling a pair of gloves from a box on the wall, "whether it's a strictly _visual_ illusion, or if there really isn't anything there. Presumably there _must_ be some kind of physical structure at least _some_ of the time, because otherwise there would have been much less for me to hit. It warrants investigation."

"Lalna will come looking for me."

"Eventually. We have a few hours." He looked over his shoulder, let his gaze flick over Rythian, and then looked away. The breath that shuddered out of Rythian was more satisfying than it had any right to be.

"You know," Xephos continued, "I might be persuaded to listen, if you have anything to say. Barring threats, of course, as I've heard nearly all of those already."

Rythian was silent. Xephos shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said, and turned around.

Before Rythian's body could make the attempt to throw itself out of his sight, he reached his hand down into the space where the mouth should have been.

And down, and down, and down.

He should have been touching the table. His elbow sank past Rythian's nose. His fingertips had gone numb, and the numbness was spreading up his arm in a swift wave, and the air was sizzling around him—

Rythian flicked out of existence, and Xephos's arm went with him.

There was a moment of panic so intense that it whited out everything else in his head, and the next thing he knew he was lying on his back on the floor and Rythian was gasping and choking and his whole arm was stinging.

Xephos stared up blindly, reeling.

"What the fuck," he whispered. Gingerly, he picked himself up. On the table, Rythian was writhing. Xephos turned away before anything happened.

"What . . . _are_ you?" he asked. He was shaking.

"I—am—Rythian," Rythian gasped, his voice twisted with pain.

"You're—you're full of—of _nothing!_ There's nothing _in_ there! What _are_ you?"

"I. Am. _Rythian,"_ he repeated.

Xephos frowned. The shaking was starting to subside, smothered under a familiar chill that rose up from the core of him.

"A mask," Xephos said at last. "You said the flesh was a _mask._ And it's empty. It's _empty._ That thing I saw, in the Nether—that was you. And it's gone now, isn't it." Things were clicking together in his head. "It burned up. When you—how did you put it?—when you _midwifed_ the world. It killed you, and now the mask is all that's _left._ You didn't kill me because you _couldn't._ You don't have the strength. It took all you had to carry Honeydew down that hall. Because you're just a shell, and now I've worn you down to less than that, even. Because Rythian is dead, and has been for a year."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know, funnily enough, I'm not sure you do, either."

"You think I don't know myself?"

"No," said Xephos, "I don't."

Silence descended, pouring out of Rythian and washing around the room.

"We came from the end," he murmured at last, sounding hypnotized.

"You what?" said Xephos.

"There was a beginning," Rythian went on, "and somewhere there was an end. Not here. But somewhere you won. Somewhere you _won,_ and the world turned to sand, and the sand turned to ash and the ash turned to rock. Somewhere the sun went dark and the darkness breathed, and the darkness grew eyes and the darkness learned to watch, and we watched _you."_

He could _feel_ Rythian's eyes on him, a spidery sensation that woke filigree warmth in his blood and stirred nervous coals in his stomach.

"Somewhere you won," Rythian said again, "and the story ended. We looked through the spaces between worlds and we saw a place where the story was still being told. We saved a speck of the world and painted his mind with the color of it. We sent him to the beginning. And he failed. But he fed the world its own tail and so we sent him when the beginning passed us again. And he failed. He fails every time, and he returns, and he forgets, and we send him again. There is no beginning anymore. But we are from the end."

"What in the _hell_ are you talking about?" Xephos said.

There was another silence, and then Rythian said, "I don't know."

"You've lost your mind."

"I remembered," said Rythian. "There was something yellow. And there was . . . that. I think—I _remember."_

A third silence.

"I can fix this."

Xephos bristled. "I _am_ fixing it."

"No," said Rythian. "But let me go, and I will."

"You'll kill me, you mean."

"Yes."

"You couldn't even if I did."

"Not if you fought."

Xephos laughed. _"Hold still while I kill you._ I'm afraid your threats need some work."

"It's not a threat, Xephos."

He went still, the cold hissing and steaming off of the fires of shame that had awoken in his stomach.

"It's an offer," Rythian finished, softly.

"You had your chance," Xephos said through numb lips.

"You still have one," he replied.

He had to swallow three times to get the lump out of his throat.

"No," he said.

Rythian sighed as though he never expected to breathe in again.

"Your machine will work on me," he said. "I'm human enough. Now."

Xephos nearly turned to look at him, stopping himself at the last moment.

"Why would you say that?"

"I want to go home," said Rythian.

"You could be lying. You're _probably_ lying."

"So kill me and be done with it. I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting. I just want it to be over." He paused. "I thought you would understand that, Xephos."

Xephos chewed his lips for a full minute before coming to a decision.

"I'll keep you under observation for three days," he said at last. "And I will erase one— _one—_ unrelated thing from your memory. And if, at the end of those three days, I'm satisfied that it's worked, I'll erase those three days, too, and you'll be free to go."

"All right," said Rythian.

He hesitated.

"I'm . . . sorry. About all of this. I really am."

"Your apologies are as meaningless as your crimes," said Rythian.

Xephos hung his head.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose they are."

* * *

 

"You're _sure_ you'll be all right?" Xephos asked.

"Y'know, since this is the _millionth_ time you've asked, I think I'll change my mind and say _no,_ I'm just a poor wee dwarf who's never dug no holes before and can't look after himself. I'll be _fine,_ Xeph, quit _askin'."_

He rubbed the back of his head. "Only, you know, if I knew where you were going—"

"You'd be after me in two days," Honeydew told him, "and you bloody well know it. I'm _adventurin',_ Xeph. Whole _point's_ to not know where you're goin'!"

"Yes," Xephos said darkly. "I remember."

Honeydew clapped him on the shoulder, or at least as close as he could reach. "Look, I'm sure you'll be fine without me."

"I'll— _I'll_ be fine without _you?"_

"Yeah, I mean, that's clearly what you're worried about. I'm sure Lalna can go a—however long—without blowin' somethin' up, even without me to keep him in line."

"Yes, I'm sure _you're_ all that's been keeping him from blowing things up."

"Oy, don't start with me. Point is, I've gotta get back to my roots, and you've gotta run your boring lab or whatever, and I'll be back in a bit and we'll start on that god damn Jaffa factory finally." He wagged a finger at him. "And no backin' out."

Xephos raised his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it, friend."

"Good," said Honeydew, with a decisive nod. He hiked his pack up on his shoulders and sniffed. "Wellp. Back in a week, be good, all that. See you later, shitlord!"

"Honeydew, I—"

Half turned away, Honeydew stopped, a twinkle in his eye. "You?"

"I'll . . . miss you," he finished lamely.

Honeydew snorted.

"Love you too, ya big idiot," he said, and headed off across the landscape.

* * *

 

Rythian opened his eyes. He took in his surroundings—the crisp white bed, the cooling plate of bacon and eggs on the nightstand, the monitors and machines—and sat up.

"Xephos?" he guessed.

"Yes," said Xephos. He took the plate off the table and handed it to Rythian. "Here. You must be starving."

Rythian accepted the plate and stared down at it.

"Breakfast?"

"Technically, I suppose it's dinner, considering the hour, but yes, breakfast enough."

Rythian glanced at him cagily. "Don't look," he said. Xephos sat back in the bedside chair and put a hand over his eyes. There were hasty scarfing noises.

"Is there—" Rythian began. Xephos fumbled the nightstand open and produced an entire loaf of bread. It was snatched from his hand. There were more enthusiastic noises. When they had gone quiet, Xephos risked a glance at Rythian.

His mask was back in place, and he was staring straight through the wall, frowning.

"Rythian?" said Xephos. Rythian shook himself.

"Something . . . happened," he said, as though coming to a decision.

"Well. Yes. You were very ill, for almost two months. It took us a—a good long while to even figure out what you were made—er, what was wrong with—that is to say, er, what you were sick with."

Rythian blinked at him.

"I don't get sick," he said.

"I'm afraid you do, or at least you did."

"No," said Rythian. His voice was shaking. "I don't _get_ sick. _Mortals_ get sick."

He raised an eyebrow. "You say that as though you aren't one."

"I'm—" Rythian began, and cut himself off. He looked down at his hands, and then back at Xephos. "What I am isn't important. I don't get sick."

Xephos shrugged. "I'm only telling you what I know, Rythian. You were ill, and Lalna and I were working round the clock for two months to get you well again, and it seems to have worked. Finally."

Rythian's eyes narrowed. "What kind of ill?" he asked.

"Odd," Xephos answered. "Very odd. You wouldn't eat, had these—I can only call them _queer spells,_ we had to lock you up—got this weird black stuff all over you—"

"Silver," said Rythian. "It was silver, wasn't it."

Xephos blinked at him. "Er . . . yes. Actually. That would've been nice to know two months ago."

"Who was poisoning me?"

"I— _what,_ sorry, _poisoning_ you?"

"It's not like it hasn't happened before. It used to be—" He broke off again and looked away. "Easier." He sighed. "We lost a lot of things in the fire."

"The, er, fire?" he asked, although part of him was singing with smug delight.

Rythian waved a hand. "The rebirth. All the green stuff under Israphel's. . . ." He turned his eyes to Xephos and cocked his head to the side. "Castle. Something _happened."_

"So you've said," Xephos told him, his skin crawling. "And, as _I've_ said, you were—"

"To you," Rythian interrupted. "Something's happened to _you."_

"I—well. Er. It's been difficult, you know." The wheels in his head were spinning so fast he half expected steam to start coming out of his ears. "Lalna's, er, cloned himself, you see. Trying to make everyone immortal. Or, you know, close enough. Like Honeydew and me used to be. And, well, not to put too fine a point on it, one of them was a _bit_ evil, and went about causing a great deal of trouble, possibly including poisoning you."

Rythian frowned down at his hands. There were thick, shiny scars around his wrists where the silver manacles had rested.

"There was . . . a certain amount of betrayal," he said at last. "I can't exactly remember, but . . . I remember feeling betrayed. Very betrayed. And—frightened."

Xephos nodded, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Well. You would, I suppose. The clone's—well, locked up. Right now. It'll be dead soon. I can't really spare the time at the moment."

"Where's Lalna?"

"Working, more than likely. He'll visit soon, I'm sure."

"Oh. Two _months,_ you said?"

"Yes."

"I've been . . . locked up."

"Unfortunately. We didn't want you hurting anyone. Or yourself."

Rythian looked at his wrists.

"You're lying," he said.

It was like a punch to the gut, and Xephos had to fight to keep himself in the chair, to keep his hand off of the silver dagger in his pocket.

"What makes you say that?" he inquired.

He gestured vaguely to his own wrists. "You didn't have me locked up. He did. I wasn't sick. I was imprisoned in your basement and it took you two months to find me." One eye narrowed in what might have been a wry smile. "You don't have to lie to me. I'm sure you looked."

Xephos sagged and put his face in his hands, mostly so Rythian wouldn't see how much he was sweating.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said, the lies like ice on his tongue, "it wasn't really Lalna."

"Does Lalna think that?"

Xephos wrestled with the question, which he supposed was in-character enough that it wouldn't tip Rythian off to anything. Inventing lies looked, from the outside, a great deal like struggling with the truth.

Or so he hoped.

"Lalna . . . isn't sure what to think," he decided at last.

"He blames himself," Rythian said, "which is why he isn't here." He paused. "Isn't it?"

"That must be it," Xephos said, leaping on the uncertainty with gusto. "He doesn't talk to me much, you see. He doesn't talk to anyone much. I'm sure he'll visit soon, he does miss you terribly."

"Oh," said Rythian, with a certain amount of relief. "Because . . . yes."

Xephos patted his hand. "Will you be all right on your own? I haven't slept in—well, quite some time, and—"

"Is there more food in there?" said Rythian, gesturing to the nightstand.

"I can arrange for there to be," Xephos said.

"Then I see no reason why I wouldn't be."

Xephos smiled at him, thinly. "Of course. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours—and I'll send some testificates with food in the meantime." He stood and stretched. "I am sorry about all of this, Rythian. It can't have been easy."

Rythian shrugged. "I don't even really remember it. But . . . thank you. For helping me."

Xephos nodded. "Any time, friend," he said, and took his leave.

"And thank _you,"_ he muttered to himself, as he walked down the hall, "for helping me concoct a story you'll actually believe next time around."

 


	21. Undrowning

_Dear Diary,_

_Turns out, adventurin's a lot more about sore feet than it is gold and treasure and all that bollocks. And wet_ _feet, too, 'cause turns out I can't build a boat to save my life (well, my life wouldn't've needed saving probably if I hadn't built the boat in the first place), but anyway I'm a good swimmer, or at least dwarfs float. Did lose the old diary though, but that's all right, 'cause I don't think there was anything in there that really needed savin'. All honesty, I'm not even sure why I write these things. Anyway._

_'Cause of the whole boat thing, I've given up on findin' Nilesy and Lomadia. I could maybe find 'em, but it'd take a lot of walkin' and probably a lot of swimmin', too, since he said it was an island, and at this point I'd rather just go home. I miss Xeph, and Lalna too, if I'm honest. And I can't imagine they're getting on all that well without me, 'cause they never do. And maybe Rythian'll be well by the time I get back. Bet he'd be a huge help on the Jaffa factory with all his . . . Rythian-ness. Yeah._

_Also my bloody feet hurt and I'm tired of sleepin' on the ground and I could really  do with one of Minty's ciders. _

_So: screw it, I'm goin' home._

* * *

 

He was ten miles out from the Labs when the first flash blinded him. At first he'd thought something mirrored had flung the sun into his eyes, only that it was brighter than that, but that particular fact didn't make its way into his brain until the shockwave rattled his boots and a hot wind gusted over the green fields.

"Oh, bollocks," said Honeydew. "And here I was thinkin' they could go a god damn week without blowin' nothin' up."

Half a mile later, just as a plume of smoke was starting to build over the horizon, the second flash hit him, brighter even than the last. The shockwave that rolled under his feet afterwards went on for several seconds, and the accompanying gust of wind smelled of smoke.

"Fuckin' _enough_ already!" Honeydew yelled at the horizon, where a column of dust and smoke was billowing further and further up, volcanic in scale.

The next four hours were the longest of his life, spent trekking across the landscape towards that vast plume, now spreading flat across the base of the stratosphere like the brown crayon of a heavy-handed giant. Honeydew did stop for lunch, reasoning that, if everyone was dead, he certainly had time to eat, and if _not_ everyone was dead, he'd be a lot more good to them if he wasn't shaking and light-headed when he arrived.

By the time he was in sight of YogLabs, the whole world was dusted with a fine layer of gray ash, fogged with it, shadowed by the massive plume of smoke. The lab itself seemed to be mostly intact, despite the fact that every tree in sight was knocked completely flat—and all in the same direction. The base of the plume was cast in lurid orange light from hidden fires.

Where the village had once stood, there was nothing but rubble and smoke.

Brushing ash out of his beard, Honeydew hurried inside the Labs, his eyes watering. The interior was busy as a kicked anthill, filled with rushing testificates and their frantic honking. Honeydew shouldered his way through them until he reached Xephos's office.

"What in the hell—" he began, before realizing that the office was full only of testificates and not, in fact, Xephos. The testificates, frazzled, looked up at him as one organism.

"Oh," he said, tugging at his beard. "Never mind, then." He turned on his heel and marched back out into the bustling halls, beelining for Lalna's office—or at least, pushing as straight a line as he could manage through the chaos.

"Okay, what in the _hell—"_ he started again, shoving open the door to Lalna's office.

The door drifted shut behind him, trapping him in an unnatural bubble of silence and stillness.

Rythian was sitting in Lalna's chair, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at nothing.

"R-Rythian," Honeydew stammered, his heart pounding for reasons he could not place. "You're, um, up and about. Good! I mean, it's good to . . . see you. . . ." He trailed off. Rythian had not so much as blinked.

Honeydew cleared his throat. "Er . . . what I mean is, I'm glad you're, er, better."

"Better," said Rythian, his voice dead.

"Y-yeah, I mean, last I heard you were, y'know, basically dead."

"Better," Rythian agreed.

Honeydew swallowed. "Should I—I mean, not that I'm _worried_ or nothin', but . . . should I, er, get Xeph? Only, just, you're . . . you seem, er. . . . S'pose, what I'm tryin' to say is: are you all right?"

Rythian was silent for the space of twenty racing heartbeats.

Then he said, "No."

"I—oh," said Honeydew, taken aback. He swallowed a couple of times to work a nervous tightness out of his throat. "I'm . . . sorry? What's, er, wrong?"

Rythian shook his head. "It's not important," he said.

"Er, sorry, but . . . seems kind of like it is. Has it got to do with everything bein' blown up?"

He blinked, slowly. "The village," he said. "It's gone, isn't it."

"Yeeeaahh, yep, it's pretty, er, gone."

"Of course."

Honeydew fidgeted. Rythian's stillness and the flat tone of his voice was setting off alarm bells that weren't connected to anything, but as much as he wanted to leave, he couldn't bring himself to abandon him.

"Is . . . there anything I can do?"

Rythian sighed. "I wanted to go home," he said. "Can't, now." He lifted his head slightly. "Was Lalna there?"

"Was—huh? You mean, when everything went _boom?_ I dunno." His stomach sank. "Though, knowing Lalna, I mean. . . ."

Nodding, he said, "Good."

Honeydew's eyes bugged out. "Good— _good?_ Did you just say _good?"_

"Yes," Rythian answered simply. He stood, unfolding like a giant bird of prey. His gaze did not waver, as though he was making eye contact with another dimension.

"All right, _seriously,_ what the _fuck_ is going on here?" Honeydew demanded. He fumbled for the doorknob behind his back, unwilling to turn away from Rythian.

"It's not important," Rythian repeated.

Just then, the doorknob turned under Honeydew's hand, and his startled leap forward was the only thing that kept him from getting hit by the door.

Lalna slipped in and clicked the door shut behind him. He was holding himself strangely, like a cornered animal, and his eyes were shifty. Rythian had gone so still that he made the marble floors look busy.

Lalna looked up, and his face went white. His eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "Oh, God, what've they done to you?"

Rythian's head turned, slowly. Honeydew hurried backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the way of the lighthouse stare. Lalna shrank under it, although it contained no more emotion than the sea.

"You," Rythian said eventually, "aren't Lalna."

"The fuck d'you mean, he's not—" Honeydew began, but Lalna cut him off.

"No," Lalna—or not, apparently—said. "No, I'm not, and thank God. Maybe I was once, but not anymore."

Rythian's head tipped to the side. "The clone."

"Clone?" Honeydew said. _"Clone?_ There's more than _one_ of the bugger? Well fuck, no wonder everything's exploded." He paused, frowning. "Here, how d'you know about this, when I don't? How much've I missed?"

"Not that much, probably," Clone-Lalna said, inclining his head to Honeydew. His eyes were fixed on Rythian as though he was trying to absorb him through his pupils. "Just whatever you haven't missed, Xephos has taken from you."

Honeydew blinked. "That . . . that's ridiculous. That's _stupid."_ He turned to Rythian, appealing. "I mean, that's stupid, right? I should be, like, yellin' and shit. 'Cause he said that about Xeph."

"And you're not," the clone pointed out, "because on some level you _do_ remember, and this all makes sense."

"No it bloody well does _not,"_ Honeydew snapped.

"You're out," Rythian observed. Clone-Lalna's attention snapped back to him like a rubber band.

"Yeah," he said. "But, y'know, so're you. Not as much of a coincidence as you might think."

"You put me in a box," Rythian said. "You tortured me."

Clone-Lalna winced. "To be fair," he hedged, "I was still Lalna at that point. A lot's happened since then."

His eyes narrowed, although he was still looking through the world. "Lalna wouldn't hurt me."

"Speaking as a Lalna, I can say he would. He has."

"You have."

 _"I've_ been in a cell. Almost as long as you have. But I can say with absolute confidence that it was Xephos who did the vast majority of the hurting."

"Oh, now _that's_ bollocks if ever I heard it," Honeydew said, jabbing a finger at him.

"It isn't, and if you really thought so, you'd be laughing, instead of looking like you've swallowed a bucket of slugs."

"Why should I believe you?" Rythian inquired. The clone promptly forgot Honeydew existed.

"Because if I hadn't been in a cell, I damn well would've got you out! Because I know the truth about what's going on here, and at this point, I'm the only one who does—apart from Xephos, who doesn't fucking count because it's all his _fault!"_

"Jesus, you're a bit mad, aren't you," Honeydew said, looking the clone up and down.

"If I am, I've earned it," he snarled. "And I'll die before I let Xephos fuck about with my head like he has with yours."

"Is Lalna dead?" Rythian asked.

"Not . . . at the moment, no," said the clone. "But I was supposed to pick up some supplies to cover him while he—uh, does . . . dangerous shit." His face went hard. "I'm beginning to think that maybe I shouldn't. I'm sure my _business_ can be taken care of without him."

"Hm," said Rythian. "Oh well."

"Seriously, that's _really_ fuckin' creepy," Honeydew told him. "It's like you _want_ him dead, which don't make a _lick_ of sense."

The clone had paled even further, and looked like he might be sick.

"Rythian," he croaked, "what's he done to you?"

Looking straight through the clone's feet, Rythian told him. He talked in circles, but not so broadly that Honeydew could not see what was at the center, and it turned his blood to molten steel and forged a white-hot ball of fury in his stomach.

"That _sick—"_

"No," Rythian sighed. "It's not his fault."

"Not his—on what fuckin' _planet—"_

"Honeydew, stop," Clone-Lalna interrupted.

"You can shut right the fuck up, 'cause a copy of a piece of shit is still—"

"You don't have to be angry," Rythian said.

 _"I damn well am anyway!"_ Honeydew roared, bringing a heel down on the floor. "Jesus _Christ,_ I'm fuckin' furious! Why aren't you?" He rounded on the clone. "Why aren't _you?_ Why didn't you fuckin' _do_ something, why didn't you—"

"What part of _I was in a bloody cell_ went over your head?" the clone snapped. "You're _not. Helping."_

"It really isn't important," Rythian said.

"Isn't— _isn't—isn't fuckin'—"_

"Rythian."

The bright violet eyes flicked up, just for a moment, before darting away again.

The clone took a deep breath, then murmured, "Xephos has a machine that can make you forget."

Silence flooded the room, blotting out even the honking of testificates outside.

"How d'you—" Honeydew began.

"Take me to him," Rythian said.

Clone-Lalna shook his head. "I can't. Xephos wants me dead. I know too much. Up until just now, I wanted him dead, too. But—"

"You fuckin' _what?"_

 _"But,"_ the clone continued, "things being as they are, I think . . . I think maybe I'll just be going."

"Why the fuck did you want Xeph _dead?_ And what's all this shit about a forgetting-machine?"

Rythian moved, drifting like a silk scarf on the breeze. The clone and Honeydew parted to let him through.

"Excuse me," Rythian said, and slipped out into the hall. His silence eddied behind him, and Honeydew gaped at the closed door.

"Y'know what," the clone mused. "If Xephos doesn't kill Lalna, I'm bloody well going to."

"It won't fix nothin'," Honeydew said, turning to him. "None of this shit—forgettin', killin', any of it—it ain't gonna _fix_ nothin'."

"Tell that to Rythian," said the clone. "You'd want to forget, too."

"I—yeah, but—but even _if_ he forgets, it don't make it _un-happen._ Even if somebody fuckin' kills Lalna, it ain't gonna _fix_ it."

"Nothing could fix this."

Honeydew folded his arms and chewed his beard.

"Why would Xeph kill you—I mean, Lalna?"

The clone shrugged. "Because Lalna's trying to kill him."

"Oh for _fuck's—_ and why in the fuck is Lalna tryin' to kill _him?"_

"Because Xephos has a machine that makes people forget," the clone said. "And he's been using it."

Honeydew considered this.

"Fuck _that,_ nobody's killin' _anybody_ while I'm here," he declared. He threw open the door and strode out into the hall.

"Don't hold yourself to that," the clone called after him.

* * *

 

It took him an entire hour of accosting random testificates to find Xephos. He was hiding in a closet with his head in his hands, crying. Honeydew slipped in, shut the door behind him, and wedged himself against the opposite wall. In the close, hot darkness, his toes rested against Xephos's.

"Home sweet home," Honeydew remarked.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Xephos demanded.

"D'you mean at the Labs, or in this closet? 'Cause they're about the same answer, actually."

"Leave me alone."

"See, I done that, for about a week, and _now_ look at you."

"Get out."

"How long've you been in here, anyway?"

"Get _out."_

"Heard people were tryin' to kill you. I could wait outside, if you like, but I ain't leavin' you alone."

Xephos's voice was bitter. "You're a bit late, I'm afraid."

Honeydew sat forward, his heart plummeting. "You haven't—"

"No one's dead," said Xephos. "Not for lack of trying." He breathed deeply and rested his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. He wrapped his arms around his knees and held on tight.

"I've . . . put Lalna away," he went on, after a moment. "I think . . . I think I can rig up a clone that's . . . that hasn't—that doesn't want to—"

"That's not an absolute piece of shit?" Honeydew supplied.

Xephos sighed. "Yes, that." He glanced down at Honeydew. "How did you know?"

"Had a chat with Rythian. Did he manage to find you?"

"Er, no. What's . . . happened with Rythian?"

Honeydew shook his head. "Not my place to tell you. But he's lookin' for you, and he needs your help. Specifically your . . . forgettin' machine, or whatever."

He stiffened with a sharp intake of breath. Honeydew fiddled with his beard.

"How . . . did you know about that?"

"Not sure I should say," Honeydew said. His stomach twisted. "Not that I don't trust you, or nothin', just . . . I dunno, thing's're a bit—"

"You don't have to trust me," Xephos said. He sounded utterly resigned. "I don't expect anyone does. And they shouldn't, honestly. Half the time _I_ don't even trust me."

"'Cause of the forgettin' machine?"

He sighed out a laugh through his nose. "Something like that."

"Have you used it on yourself, or somethin'?"

Shrugging, Xephos said, "If I had, I wouldn't remember. But . . . I'm going to."

"Fuck's sake. Don't tell me somethin' horrendous's happened to you, too."

_"Too?"_

"Let's just say," Honeydew said darkly, "that locked up forever is the best place for Lalna."

Xephos pursed his lips, then admitted, "I . . . could use your help, actually."

Honeydew raised an eyebrow. "Really? All right, what d'you need?"

Taken aback, Xephos stared at him. "You're . . . you're serious? Just like that? After—after everything—"

"So long as you're not askin' me to kill anybody, I don't give a fuck," said Honeydew. "You're in a bad way, that's obvious. You ain't gettin' out of it on your own, _that's_ obvious, too. I said it before and I know you're gonna make me say it again: I'm going to look after you."

The corner of Xephos's mouth twitched in something like a smile. "Whether I like it or not," he said.

Honeydew winced. "Yeah, er, maybe not so much, on that bit. But _if_ you want me to . . . I'm all yours."

Xephos's eyes had filled with tears again. "What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?" he wondered, choked.

"You didn't," Honeydew told him. "Life ain't fair, but I guess sometimes it's unfair in the other direction. Honestly you could use a couple breaks." He paused. "Not sure what _from,_ but I get the feelin' you could use 'em anyway."

There was a moment of quiet. Xephos reached out a hand. Honeydew took it.

"I need you to keep a secret," Xephos said.

"Er . . . what kind of secret?"

"I'm going to . . . use my—my forgetting machine on myself. And I can't ever know that I have."

"Oh, is _that_ all?" Honeydew said sagging. "'Course I can keep that a secret. Er, I think. Not sure I'm fantastic at keepin', y'know, secrets. Haven't ever really tried."

A strange expression flicked across Xephos's face, something between pain and pride.

"I'm sure you can," he said.

"Can I, er, ask what it is you're, y'know, forgettin'?"

He smiled wryly. "There are some secrets I'd rather keep for myself," he said.

Honeydew squeezed his hand. "Fair enough." He hesitated, then said, "It . . . ain't gonna fix nothin', you know. Forgettin'. I mean, I can understand why a person'd want to forget . . . somethin' bad, but . . . it ain't gonna fix it."

"I'm not sure how you came to that conclusion."

"'Cause it ain't how things work. Nothin' goes away just 'cause you forget about it."

Xephos frowned down at their joined hands, chewing his lip.

"At some point," he said, "it stops being about _fixing_ at all. At some point it's just _surviving."_

Honeydew looked at him. He was pale and waxen, disheveled. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He seemed small, curled up like a child in that dark closet, as though the weight on his shoulders had squeezed him down into something less than he once was. His hand was cold in Honeydew's, and shaking. His eyes were dull and downcast, foggy with exhaustion and tears.

He looked _lost._

"Okay," said Honeydew.

Xephos managed a smile. He got to his feet, drawing Honeydew up along with him.

"Thank you, friend," he said.

"'Bout ready to come out of the closet?" Honeydew inquired. "Most of us have already figured out you're in here anyway, but it's up to you."

Xephos cracked a smile and put a heavy hand on Honeydew's head.

"How long were you waiting to use _that_ one?" he asked.

"Since the day I fuckin' met you," said Honeydew.

"You're a terror."

He grinned. "And don't you forget it."

 


	22. Consequence

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* * *

 

"You're four days late," Lalnable said, and looked up. He frowned. "You're also . . . not Xephos."

"I believe you," said Lalna.

"What, that you're not Xephos? Good to know, I'll take comfort in your lack of identity crisis while you're killing me."

"No, Lalnable, I _believe you."_

He paused, and then a look of realization dawned on his face.

"Oh," he said. "Well. Good. And, er . . . what exactly were you planning on doing about it?"

"I'll give you a hint," Lalna said, "it involves some _really_ big guns."

Lalnable grinned, sitting back against the wall of his cell. "I like it already." The grin faded. "What convinced you?"

"Rythian," he answered. His fists clenched at his sides. "Xephos fucked about with Rythian's brain."

The clone's jaw clenched. "I told you."

"Look, shut up, all right? Now's not the time."

"I _told_ you Xephos was lying. I _told_ you we should've let Rythian out."

"I know! All right? I really do _not_ need your—your gloating right now."

"To be perfectly honest, I don't give one single fuck what you need. It's your fault, what happened to Rythian."

"It fucking is not!" he cried, advancing on the cell. Lalnable watched him dispassionately. "It's _Xephos's_ fault and nobody else's!"

Lalnable shrugged. "It's _mostly_ Xephos's fault, I'll give you that. But you could've stopped it, and you didn't."

"You can't very well blame me for thinking there was something wrong with Ryth. He was threatening to kill me every five minutes."

"I can very well blame you, because Rythian was _never_ the one there was something wrong with."

He glared. "D'you want to help me murder Xephos or not?"

Sighing, Lalnable rolled his eyes. "Are you going to murder _me_ when you're done?"

"I'm still making up my mind."

"That's reassuring."

"Your other option is staying here and _definitely_ getting killed when I'm done."

Lalnable gave him a calculating look.

"Well. When you put it that way, I think I'll join up on the side with the really big guns."

"I thought you might." He slid his keycard through the reader and opened the door, then held it open.

Lalnable rose, stretched, and ambled over to him. He stopped when he was just through the door, nose-to-nose with Lalna. The proximity made his skin crawl.

"And when this is all over," he said, "we're going to have a serious talk about how Rythian should be treated."

"I already know how Rythian should be treated," Lalna replied. _"Not by you."_

He saw the clone's jaw clench, saw his breathing accelerate.

"Don't even think about it," Lalna preempted. "If you shoot me in the back, you're a dead man walking. They'll all know you're not me, and they'll all know you've killed me."

"I'll clear some room on my trophy shelf," Lalnable said.

"Ha-fucking-ha. Nobody's giving out medals for murder."

"Some murders," Lalnable said sweetly, "are their own reward."

Lalna had just opened his mouth to reply when the shockwave ripped through YogLabs. It threw him and Lalnable to the floor and showered mortar on their heads, filled his ears with ringing and made his heart stutter.

"What in the _fuck_ was that?" he cried, scrambling to get upright. His own voice was muted in his ears.

"I think," Lalnable said, picking himself up, "it was an explosion."

Lalna glared at him. "I hope you're this bloody helpful when Xephos is trying to kill us."

The clone brushed past, weaving a dizzy path towards the door. "Come on. It was close, wherever it came from."

"Oy," Lalna cried, staggering after him and grabbing his shoulder. "Where d'you think you're going?"

Lalnable gave him a withering look. "To find out what just blew up, where do _you_ think I'm going?"

"Not out there, that's for damn sure. If anybody sees us together, Xeph'll have us both dead in minutes."

"So wait here," Lalnable said, and shrugged him off.

Lalna promptly grabbed him again and spun him around. Lalnable shoved him in the chest.

"I was really hoping to avoid a fight," Lalna said, gritting his teeth.

"So don't start one," the clone retorted.

"You're an accessory," he hissed, "and I don't need you to make this work."

Lalnable spread his arms. "So why are you here?"

"Because I thought, stupidly, that you'd be less trouble than you're worth. So far you're doing a _fantastic_ job of proving me wrong."

"Do you want to argue about this, or do you want to find out what just blew up?"

Grinding his teeth, Lalna forced himself to calm down.

"Fine. You check outside. I'll follow you in ten minutes and check around the Labs. Hopefully no one will notice."

"You're letting me go _outside?_ I'm astonished. What if I ran away?"

"Well _first_ of all, I wouldn't have to put up with you anymore, which'd be worth any inconvenience."

Lalnable snorted. "As if you're that lucky," he said, and hurried out.

"Bastard," Lalna muttered. When he was sure Lalnable had gone, he opened the door of the cell again and propped it open with one of his shoes. He rifled through the bookshelf until he found the little leatherbound journal he'd placed amongst the other volumes. It had been blank when he'd put it there, brand-new, but now there were creases in the spine and the edges of the pages had been distressed. Lalna sat on the bed and opened the journal.

_Hello, Lalna. Thank you for the journal. I assume that by the time you get around to reading this, I'll either be dead or well on my way there, so here are some things you don't want to hear that are still true anyway._

_Leave Rythian. Leave him and never speak to him again. Leave him alone. You're bad for him. Every day you spend with him kills him a little more. Leave him, you selfish, controlling, jelous prick. You pretend to be so concerned with what's best for him, but you're only after what's best for you, and you always have been. You know as well as I do that what's best for Rythian is anything but you._

_Drop the cloning program. Imortality is what got us into this mess in the first place. You won't believe me, because you don't even believe there is a mess, but I'm telling you anyway. Drop the cloning program. We'll all live longer._

_If you won't do that, at least get rid of Xephos. If you need a reason, just look at what he's done to Rythian. If life was fair, of course, you'd get rid of yourself, too, for the same reason, but I doubt you'd know 'fair' if it slapped you in the face. Confront him, if you have to, about the machine that wipes people's memories. But do it with a gun to his head, so you can kill him before he uses it on you again._

_Did I mention leaving Rythian entirely alone for the rest of your life? I did, but I don't think it got through. Since I've thought about this, here's a list of all the things we've done to him that have contributed to ruining his entire life—_

A bulleted list began there. It went on for three pages. Lalna flipped through them, counting, and then returned to the beginning to start reading.

_-The kitten. That's not the first thing we did, but it was so incredibly horrendous that it's always the first one that comes to mind._

_-Maybe he liked living in a hole in the ground. Even if he didn't, destroying someone's home because you think it's 'not good enough' for them is cruel._

_-He practicaly made that alchemical chest for us. It was his to take. He did not 'rob us blind' and it's only your sick sense of entitelment that makes you think so._

Lalna's hands were shaking. The temptation to rip the journal to shreds was rising with every word.

_-We never gave him a choice on the whole sex thing. 'I'll wait as long as I have to' is not a choice. You entiteled fuck._

_-You remember that time we drugged him unconsious against his will and without his knowledge? I do. It would've served us right if he'd killed us then and there._

To Lalna's right, there was a quiet _click._

His head snapped up.

The door was closed.

Xephos was standing just outside, holding Lalna's shoe.

"You know," he remarked, "I still have no idea if you're behind the explosion, but I _am_ feeling very gratified in my decision to check."

"You _son of a bitch!"_ Lalna screamed, leaping from the bed.

The second explosion ripped through the Labs, and the world went black.

* * *

 

When he came to, his whole body was still ringing with pain. Every movement made the bell-clapper in his head strike against his skull and sent reverberations rolling down his spine. He managed to get himself upright, and took stock of his situation through dizzy eyes.

The cell was still intact—that was the first and most relevant fact. Xephos was gone, although he had left Lalna's shoe on the floor outside. Lalna himself was propped up against the front wall of the cell, a good three feet from where he'd been standing when the shockwave hit.

It must, he thought blearily, have been one _hell_ of an explosion.

The whole left side of his face was crusted with something sticky, and he reached up a clumsy hand to wipe it away. His fingertips came back red. He dabbed at his scalp until he found the wound—it was small, but evidently enthusiastic. He deemed it unimportant and dragged himself to his feet, rubbing more dried blood from his face.

"Fuck _me,"_ he muttered, fumbling through his pockets until his fingers lighted upon the battery-operated soldering iron he'd been carrying around since Xephos had first threatened to lock him in this very cell. He stood with it in his hand, waiting for it to heat up, and peered around.

"Gotta be. . . ." He tottered around the perimeter of the cell, scrutinizing the walls until he found what he was looking for behind the bookshelf.

A spoon had been ground against the marble floor until it bore a sharp point. There were deep score marks in the plastic cell wall, marking out perhaps a week's worth of industrious scratching. Lalna hauled the bookshelf aside and tucked the sharpened spoon into his pocket. Lying on the floor, his body stretched out under the bed, he applied the hot soldering iron to the scored plastic. Thirty seconds later, the point of the iron poked out the other side of the wall. Lalna ground his teeth.

Even with all his preparation, it was still going to be a very, _very_ slow escape.

* * *

 

An hour into melting a way out of the cell, Lalna's soldering iron ran out of batteries. An hour after that, the sharpened spoon broke in his hand and very nearly took his eye out. He was then reduced to kicking the weakened plastic at its failure points. Finally, a good three hours after he'd begun, a section of wall just barely wide enough for his shoulders to fit through snapped off and clattered to the floor outside. Lalna hauled himself out through the hole, getting stuck twice and tearing holes not only in his coat and shirt, but in his arms as well. He emerged sweaty, bloodied, exhausted, and absolutely _furious._

He put on his shoe and made his way to the surface, cursing the whole way.

Lalnable was not difficult to find. He was in the medical bay, sitting on the side of a bed amongst a clutter of empty glass bottles; another bottle, half-full of fizzing pink liquid, was in his hand. Even amongst the bustle of treating burns, broken bones, and other various explosion-related injuries, Lalna's presence drew an uncomfortable number of stares.

"So much for not being seen in the same place," Lalnable commented, looking Lalna up and down. "Where have you been?"

"Locked in your bloody cell," Lalna spat. "Where have _you_ been?"

Lalnable indicated the bottles. "Drinking myself well," he said. "If I hadn't stopped off for a change of clothes, I'd be ashes."

"You've been in my _room?"_

"No, actually, I just went for the spares in the cloning bay. Why, what's in your room?"

Lalna's mind whirred. Logically, Rythian would have gone by now—the explosions would have seen to that, and even if they hadn't, the ensuing bustle would surely have driven him off. It couldn't do any harm, therefore, to send Lalnable along to collect some supplies, and would certainly save some time.

"Several guns," Lalna answered. More and more people were staring, and the frantic activity of the medical bay was slowing. "Look, I've got to go check on Number Nine, all right? Xephos knows we're up to something, he might try to scrap Nine so we don't use it against him."

"Him," Lalnable corrected. "And he was fine, last I saw."

"Four hours ago. Any number of things could have happened to it in that time."

_"Him,"_ Lalnable said again.

"Whatever. Have you seen Xephos?"

"No. I'd assume he's busy dealing with the casualties. Or possibly creating more, it can be difficult to guess."

Lalna nodded, his mind already sidling out of the conversation and on to the next task. "Good. Meet me in the cloning bay once you've got the guns. I shouldn't be long. And don't piss around, because—"

"Now that you've barged in here, it will be literally _minutes_ before Xephos figures out what we're up to?" Lalnable filled in, smiling.

"Oh, fuck off, not like it matters now."

Lalnable swigged down the last of his pink potion and got to his feet.

"Don't wait up for me," he said.

"Don't make me," Lalna answered.

From there, he headed straight for the cloning bay—Lalnable was unreliable at best, but the Number Nine clone could, conceivably, be convinced to be useful, if he played his cards right, and he figured his chances of survival increased exponentially with the number of meat-shields he had to hand.

He had just made it to the first cloning tank before it sunk in that the lights had already been on when he'd come in.

There was a quiet, high-pitched whine behind him. Slowly, without turning around, Lalna raised his hands.

"Yes," Xephos said. "I thought you might."

"This isn't what you think," Lalna said, for lack of anything more likely to keep him alive.

"Isn't it? I'm curious to know what you think I think this is."

His brain filled up with static. He opened and closed his mouth, scrambling for words.

"I'm here," he said at last, his voice coming out slow and thick, "to destroy the other clone."

There was a beat of silence.

"You got out of your cell," Xephos said.

Lalna nodded. "Lalna let me out, the idiot." His heart was racing, his head light with the euphoria on the other side of panic. "He's going to try to kill you."

"Is he? Did he say why?"

"Because you erased Rythian's memories," Lalna said, fighting to keep the rage out of his words. "He's caught on to your lies, and I don't think he appreciates being made to hurt Rythian."

Xephos sighed. "Yes, I thought that might be an issue. Is Rythian all right?"

"No, you bastard, because you've fucked about with his head and _tortured_ him," Lalna spat, then reigned himself in. He had to swallow back panicked giggles. "So Lalna told me."

"Ah, of course. I suppose he was trying to recruit you into his crusade against me?"

"Yes. I refused."

_"Did_ you? Last I checked, you were first on the _let's kill Xephos_ bandwagon."

His head was spinning. He wanted, desperately, to turn around and see what Xephos was pointing at his back, but the idea of moving made his scalp prickle with phantom pain. The whir of his thoughts kept coming back around to the image of his brains splattering all over the tank in front of him, red dripping down the black paneling, fragments of bone clicking against the floor. He wondered if he would even hear the _bang._

"I never said I wasn't," Lalna said at last, amazed he could hear his own voice over the pounding of his heart. "But I _will_ say that I'm not stupid. I knew Lalna would kill me as soon as he was done with you."

"And what's possessed you to destroy Number Nine?"

"If it's dead," Lalna said, "Lalna can't use it against me."

"Oh, I'm sure he could think of a better use for _it_ than that," Xephos said, spitting the pronoun as though it were toxic. "I know _I_ have."

"I hope you'll forgive me for being curious."

"I'd be concerned if you weren't. Besides, it's not as though you'll be able to do anything with the information."

He turned, as slowly as the earth turned on its axis. He locked eyes with Xephos, who was pointing a silver gun at him. Its barrel was glowing, and it was emitting a grating electronic whine.

"You wouldn't kill me," Lalna said. His voice was shaking.

"That's an interesting view to take," Xephos remarked. His face was expressionless as a granite outcrop.

Lalna licked his lips. "If you were going to," he said, "you would have done it already."

"Would I? What an interesting idea, Dr. Hector."

The name made his blood run cold. "I—"

"Wrong," Xephos went on, "but very interesting."

If Lalna's blood had been cold before, it turned to ice at that.

"I could help you!" he blurted. "I could—I could help you kill Lalna—"

"Oh, _do_ shut up, you're embarrassing yourself," Xephos said. "It's truly incredible, the things you'll promise me when you feel threatened. I don't suppose you remember, but the first time I wiped your mind, you offered me Rythian. I find that both fascinating and ironic, considering that he's now the reason you're determined to kill me."

"You son of a _bitch,"_ Lalna spat, heedless of the weapon pointed right between his eyes. "He was right about you, _everything_ he said about you, you scheming, underhanded _coward."_

"You helped," Xephos pointed out.

"You _lied to me!"_ he roared, taking a step forward. The gun twitched and discharged. The paneling just behind his left ear exploded. Lalna froze, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Xephos thumbed a little wheel on the back of the gun. Its whine changed pitch.

"It has six power settings," he mentioned. "Guess which one that was."

Lalna gulped. "A-all right," he said. "Let's not be . . . rash."

"Rash? Oh, goodness, no, Lalna, there's nothing _rash_ about this. On my part, at least, I can't speak for you." He paused, then inclined his head. "Sorry. _Dr. Hector._ Because of course only your friends call you _Lalna."_

His heart made a bid to leap out of his mouth, perhaps in the hope that it could avoid dying along with the rest of him.

"R-right. Right!" he said belatedly. "But— _but!_ I never would have helped you—when I was still Lalna, I mean—if I'd known—then—what you were really doing!"

Xephos raised an eyebrow. "And yet. Here you are, offering to help me."

"This is _different!"_ he squeaked.

"I'm sure. Unfortunately, you see, the fact of the matter is that there's only one Lalna in this room with whom I intend to continue my association, and he isn't you."

"Number Nine," Lalna growled.

"The very same. I've gotten quite good at editing memories, you see. I'm confident I can make him a suitable replacement. Better than the original, perhaps. He probably won't even know he's a clone. In fact, you know, I've been thinking I might just start him up where Six left off. It might be good for him to recall being obliterated in the blast from his own impulsive nuclear holocaust."

Lalna blinked at him.

"What?" he said.

"Ah, yes, I don't suppose you'd know, having been in that cell for the past four hours. It seems Number Six had a bit of a falling-out with one of his neighbors and resorted to the biggest bombs he could construct. I believe the neighbor took offense to that and removed all the coolant from Six's reactor. I know I've talked a good deal about _smoking craters_ in the past, but it's been rather informative to see one up close and personal. I assume the death toll was significant. It's difficult to tell, what with the bodies being completely vaporized."

"That's—how would you even get Six's—?"

Xephos rolled his eyes. "Please. Everyone at the Captive Creeper has been drinking nanites for weeks. Provided there's any tissue that's _not_ been atomized, I could quite easily resurrect all of them. It will take some time, of course, but I see no reason not to reduce the damage your clone has done."

Lalna shook himself, forcibly focusing on the task at hand. "I'm sure you think you're very clever for all that."

Slowly, Xephos's mouth curled into a smile. It was the kind of expression that bear traps wore just as the big furry paw came down between their jaws.

"Since you seem to know such a great deal about me and what I think," he said, "I wonder if you recall what my policy is on the morality of killing clones."

Lalna's body backed up of its own accord. He ran into the cloning tank and stopped, eyes darting.

"Xephos, please, we—we can—you don't have to do this, I can—I could help you, I could—"

"You could, conceivably, shut up. I would be happy to help."

His back pressed to the wall, Lalna raised his hands, panicking. There was no way out, no emergency exit, and that damn laser was pointed right at his head and Xephos had never looked more flatly _murderous._

"Wait, _wait!"_ he cried, the words spilling out in a senseless rush. "I'm the real one! I'm the real Lalna, Xeph, please, it's _me!"_

Xephos's expression did not change one iota.

"I know," he said, and—


	23. Rising

_Log 1_

_I've decided to keep an audio log as we work through the process of creating master clones. The idea seemed natural, in a way—it keeps my hands free to write or fiddle, but the log gets kept nonetheless. Lalna agrees that this is an excellent idea. He gets the feeling, as I do, that our memories aren't quite as sharp as they were before the . . . incident, in the Nether._

_Come to think of it, the vast majority of the past year is a bit fuzzy—but I suppose that's only natural, as there's been a great deal to do._

_I just don't remember what most of it was. At the moment. I'm sure it'll come back to me._

_The explosions in the village were a wake-up call for all of us, and it's made me that much more determined to get this program under way. I will, of course, be moonlighting at Honeydew's factory—which he's adamant we start at the earliest opportunity, and I must say the idea is attractive (I've been spending far too much time at the lab, I do  know that)—but I doubt there's much rush, since everyone's had the fear of death put into them by the fact that what used to be a village is now a radioactive crater. Incredibly, the death toll came out to a whopping  one, which one we fortunately had a prototype clone for. It seems that the threat of nuclear apocalypse had not gone unnoticed, and the village had essentially cleared out by the time the actual explosions happened. Even the saboteur who caused the reactor to go critical managed to get away before it did, and I expect Lalna would have, too, if he hadn't been trying to fix it. _

_The Flux experiments were undisturbed, fortunately, although it was a close-run thing. Lalna says he plans to look into it more on his own time, perhaps once he finds an assistant. Personally I think it's a magnificent idea, because as long as he's distracted, he can't escalate the situation with Rythian, which he seems otherwise inclined to do (Rythian is not helping, and is, in fact, also escalating), but as I said, I doubt anything will come of it. Hopefully. I'm sure it'll be fine._

_I'm honestly looking forward to this Jaffa factory thing. It'll take my mind off of how . . . wrong  I feel. _

_Wrong? Not wrong. Just a bit confused. I haven't been sleeping right. It'll be good for me to get away._

_I'll be back to normal in no time. I'm sure._

 

_End Log 1_

* * *

 

He fired. Lalna's head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground, smoking slightly. Xephos lowered the laser and watched the body twitch. Unhurried, he approached and knelt next to Lalna. He pressed two fingers to his neck and waited.

There was a pulse—frantic, but steady. Xephos nodded to himself and slipped his hands under Lalna's arms, hoisting him up. He dragged him to one of the empty cloning tanks and stuffed him in. Using Number Nine as his template, he wired up and intubated Lalna, then sealed the tank and filled it.

The steady pulse of Lalna's heart appeared on screen. Xephos watched it for a full minute before he was satisfied. He put a finger to the radio in his ear.

 _"YogLabs Directory, how may I help you?"_ the testificate on the other end answered.

"Yes, hello, it's me. Could you get me a few members of janitorial down in B512? I have something rather large and delicate that needs moving."

_"Yes, sir. I'll see who's available."_

"Rollcarts would be appropriate. And a few power cells. Something to take out a wall with. And no less than six people, I think."

_"Yes, sir."_

He waited patiently until the team of testificates arrived. He pointed out the tank to them and helped them hook it up to the power cells they'd brought. With much grunting and effort, the tank was raised onto wheeled platforms. With rather more effort, an appropriately sized hole was cut into the wall so that the tank could be removed.

"Where's we takin' this, mister?" one of the janitors asked, wiping sweat from his huge nose.

Xephos tapped his chin. "The Reflecting Pool, I think," he said. "He should be safe enough there, and we can wire him back into the mains. Oh, and once you've put him down there, do me a favor and _seal off the entire room permanently."_

The testificate's eyes widened. "Uh, why'd we—"

"Would you like to join him?" Xephos inquired.

"N-no! No sir, right away, sir, you got it, seal it off perm'nently, yessir."

"Good man," Xephos said.

He accompanied them down to the Reflecting Pool—a room which had never been used, tucked away in a deep corner of the Labs—watched as they wired Lalna back into the central power system, watched them take their tools and power cells and lock the door behind them. He waited until the next team returned with mortar and masonry.

Only then did he excuse himself, find a convenient and secluded closet, and break down into a ruinous, sobbing mess, finally allowing the cold energy that had propelled him for the last five hours to drain away.

"Tonight," he whispered to himself. "It's _got_ to be tonight."

* * *

 

Rythian was in his office, waiting for him. Honeydew stood by Xephos's side, still holding his hand. As Rythian looked up at them, Xephos was glad of the dwarf's presence.

"I've heard," Xephos hedged, "that you may be in need of my help."

"Yes," Rythian said simply.

"Dare I ask how you even found out I _could_ help?"

Honeydew nudged him. "It don't matter."

"It matters to me," Xephos said. The cold was making a bid to rise out of his bones again, and it was only the warmth of Honeydew's hand in his that was keeping it at bay.

Rythian considered him for a long moment.

"The Lalna who isn't Lalna," he said. "He told me."

"Oh, fantastic, he's finally done _something_ useful. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you? Only last I heard, he very much wanted me dead."

"Gone," said Rythian.

"You'll forgive me if that doesn't—"

"He's gone, Xeph," Honeydew said. "I don't think he's comin' back. And if he does, and he tries to do anythin' to you, I'll knock his block off."

Xephos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Fine. Okay. What is it you want to forget? Honeydew wouldn't tell me."

Rythian seemed to shrink into himself, like a balloon under pressure. He waved a hand at Honeydew.

"Tell him," he said.

Honeydew told him. Rythian bristled.

"That isn't what happened," he said.

"Sorry, you told me to tell him, and I fuckin' _told_ him. I ain't got time for talkin' in circles."

"Excuse me," Xephos said faintly, and tottered to the bin by his desk, and threw up.

"Oh, fuck, I forgot about that," Honeydew said. There was a sound of clomping boots, and a small hand rested on Xephos's spine. "Sorry, friend."

Xephos wiped his mouth and stood up, shaking his head.

"No—no, that's not important, I—" He turned his eyes to Rythian, who would not look at him. "I am so, so sorry," he said.

Rythian shrugged. Honeydew patted Xephos's arm.

"Ain't your fault, friend. Say, just out of curiosity, where've you got Lalna locked up, anyway? Askin' for a friend."

Rythian's eyes flicked up.

"Locked up?" he said.

"Er," Xephos said, "in suspended animation, is probably a better description. I thought it would be wise to keep the original around for the sake of—of reducing copying errors in the DNA. Cloning stuff, you know. It occurred to me that we don't really _need_ that room for anything and that there would certainly be no harm in, say, walling it off entirely for the forseeable future. At the time it seemed like it might possibly have been overkill, but now I'm feeling quite pleased with the decision."

"I'm sorry," Rythian said.

"Are you? What on earth for?"

He shrugged again. "He was your friend, and I've made you hate him."

 _"No,"_ Xephos snapped. _"Lalna_ made me hate him."

Rythian's eyes flicked up again, and something that might have been a smile flitted across his face.

"I suppose someone trying to murder you is worth hating them for."

Xephos scoffed, waving a hand. "I didn't _hate_ him for that. Honestly it was one of the more reasonable things he did—don't think about that too much, please. But _this,_ this is unforgivable."

"I don't want your pity," Rythian said.

"This isn't pity," Xephos said. "This is anger."

"I don't want that, either," he said.

He took a deep breath and sighed it out again. "All right. What _do_ you want?"

Rythian was smiling, somewhere under his mask, but the expression had very little to do with happiness.

"I want to forget."

"I—" Xephos began, and hesitated. "I have to warn you. It . . . it may not make the feelings go away. Whatever it is you are feeling."

"I'm not," Rythian told him.

"You might, one day," said Xephos. "And if you do, you won't know why."

"Stop tryin' to talk him out of it," Honeydew admonished.

"That's not what this is," Xephos said. "I'm trying to make sure this is really what he wants. God knows he deserves to make that decision himself."

"Oh," said Honeydew. Xephos turned back to Rythian.

"Is this really what you want?" Xephos asked softly.

"Yes," said Rythian.

"All right," Xephos said. "Come with me, both of you. This will all be over with in a few hours."

 _"Both_ of us?" said Honeydew, frowning up at him.

"Yes," said Xephos. "You need to see how it's done before you help me through it. And if it's all right with you, I would very much like to get it over with as soon as possible."

Rythian gave him a penetrating look.

"You, too," he said.

"Well," he sighed. "I _did_ build it for a _reason."_

* * *

 

They left Rythian in the care of Testificate M. D. after the procedure. Xephos was adamant about the fact that Rythian was to be allowed to do whatever he wanted and leave whenever he wished. His word was to be taken as law, and no one was to touch him without permission. Testificate M. D. took this all in stride and asked no questions.

There had been a lot fewer questions asked of Xephos lately.

When Testificate M. D. had gone, quiet descended on the little lab, filled with the whirring of the computers. Xephos changed gloves, sat on the examination table, and began wiring himself up.

"Xeph?" Honeydew said. It was the first word he'd spoken in over an hour.

"Yes, Honeydew?" he said, tugging the cap full of electrodes onto his head.

"Are you still gonna bring Lalna back?"

"I think so, yes. A different one, of course. I have the brain-matrix of the one who blew up . . . everything . . . stored and ready to go."

"Yeah, but . . . that's still Lalna. Just 'cause he ain't the one who done it don't mean he wouldn't've, if you see what I mean."

Xephos chewed his lip and clasped his hands in his lap, slouching. "I don't think I can ever make sure he doesn't."

"You could," said Honeydew. "By leavin' him dead."

"I'm not sure that's a precedent I want to set."

Honeydew looked at him. "Huh?"

"I mean I . . . I don't want to punish the whole because of something one part did. I don't want to—what I mean is—" He stopped, breathed, and tried again. "The Lalna who was in the village didn't commit the crime. And I won't punish him just because he might have, if given the chance. We can't go around _not_ bringing people back just because they _might_ do something wrong. We don't— _I_ don't—get to make that call. Pretty soon there wouldn't be anyone left."

"I guess," said Honeydew. "But—I dunno, Xeph, I'll never be able to look at him the same, y'know? Not sure I can just let that shit go."

"I know," said Xephos. "And, maybe it's for the best that we don't. I mean, maybe we can—can—"

"Teach him to not fuckin' rape people?" Honeydew filled in.

Xephos made a noise halfway between a snort and a gag, putting a hand over his mouth.

"Yes," he said. "That."

Honeydew shook his head and folded his arms. "Shouldn't have to teach that. Should've done it sooner."

"We can't change what's happened, friend," Xephos said. "We've done what we could for Rythian, the best we can do now is make sure it never happens again. To anyone."

Another silence fell. Xephos started the machine. It made his skin prickle all over.

"Xeph," Honeydew said again.

Xephos sighed. "Yes?"

"Have you used it on me?"

He looked at Honeydew. The dwarf was frowning at the floor, arms folded, jaw clenched.

"Yes," Xephos said, before he could stop himself. He winced.

Honeydew nodded. "Thought so. 'Cause I've got these, like, gaps. And feelin's that come from nowhere, like. And when you said that to Rythian, about feelin' and not knowin' why, I thought, oh my god, that's what's goin' on. I've not gone mad at all."

Xephos swallowed. "I'm . . . sorry, friend."

He waved a hand. "Nah. I mean, must've been pretty awful, whatever it was, if I asked you to wipe it out of my head. S'pose you made me forget about the machine so I wouldn't go lookin' for whatever it is I forgot. Which, y'know, I understand. I'm not gonna go lookin' now. Won't even remind _you_ about the machine, if you don't want me to. Y'know. Afterwards."

"That . . . would be best," Xephos said faintly.

A third silence, stretched thin by the space between them.

"So," Xephos said at last. "Er. About this Jaffa factory idea of yours."

Honeydew looked up at him and grinned.

* * *

 

There was a steady, electronic beeping. There were warm, starched sheets. There was the sharp smell of disinfectant. There were fluorescent lights.

There was tremendous, abject _terror._

Xephos sat bolt upright, gasping. He patted at his chest, looking for the wound—there must have been a wound, something horrific had happened and he _was_ in hospital—and then moved on to his head.

A pair of small, strong hands caught his wrists.

"Oy, oy! Steady on, spaceman," Honeydew said.

"Oh _God!"_ Xephos cried, breaking the dwarf's grasp to clutch at his face. "Honeydew! Are _you_ all right? Christ, I didn't even think—are you hurt? You're not hurt, are you? Oh God, why are we in hospital, what's happened, something's _happened,_ are we dead? We're dead. Who's killed you, I'll haunt the bloody _Christ_ out of—"

 _"Xeph,"_ Honeydew interrupted. He put his hands on Xephos's cheeks and held him still. "Everyone's _fine._ We're not dead. You had a nasty knock on the head, that's all. What with the explosions."

"Ex—the explo—oh my God, _Lalna,_ is Lalna—?"

"Er," Honeydew said, glancing away. "I mean, we've got the clone thing for him."

Xephos sagged. The fear began to drain out of him as things clicked into place. The explosions, he remembered the explosions. Presumably he had even known that they were going to happen, which would explain the creeping dread pervading the entirety of his memory.

Or, really, where his memory _should_ have been. It seemed to be elsewhere at the moment, leaving just the dread and the fear to hold the mental queue for it.

"Something—something's wrong with me," Xephos said. "What's—Honeydew, what's happened to me?"

"Nasty knock on the head," Honeydew repeated. "Bit of ceiling dropped right on you. Lucky you survived, honestly."

"Why haven't I got a bump?" he demanded. "Why isn't there a bump on my head? Honeydew, I'm telling you, something is _wrong_ with me. I don't know what, I don't know how I know, but—"

"Yeah, ol' Testificate M. D. said you might say that," Honeydew interrupted, too quickly. "See, we got you to swallow some of them pink potions, cleared the bump right up, right? But he said the inside of your head was different, or somethin'. Yeah. 'S what he said."

Xephos forced himself to breathe. Panicking, he reminded himself, was not going to help anything.

"I just—I just have this _feeling._ There's something really, honestly _wrong_ with me. And I can't— _remember,_ there's so much. . . ." He put a hand to his head, which had started to ache. "There's so much _missing,"_ he said.

"Worse knock on the head than we thought, then," Honeydew muttered into his beard.

"What was that?" Xephos said, looking up at him. Honeydew raised his hands.

"Nothin'! Didn't say nothin'. Look, Xeph, point is, you're gonna be all right, okay? It's been a rough day for everybody, 'specially you—and Lalna, I guess, gettin' blown up and all—but we're all gonna be fine. Right? It's gonna be fine."

"I—I—" Xephos began, and then sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I just—I just _know,_ right, that something—something _terrible_ is going to happen. That something—that I'm—"

"Xeph, c'mon. What could be worse than an entire town goin' up in radioactive smoke? I mean, I guess there coulda been more than one person there, or we could, like, not have a clone of 'im ready to go, but I'm tellin' you, that _somethin' terrible_ you're goin' on about has already happened. And now it's over, and now we've gotta, y'know, pick up the bits and move on."

Xephos deflated. "I . . . suppose you're right. Thank you, Honeydew."

Honeydew patted his arm. "Yeah, anytime. Y'know, I was thinkin', after everythin' you've been through, it'll be good for us to get away for a while. Lalna too, I guess. You remember that Jaffa factory I kept askin' about? You'd better remember my god damn Jaffa factory."

He thought. The memories were there, poking out like pines from a low fog.

"Yes," he said, and then, "yes. I think—I think that's a good idea. Although—maybe we should get the—the clones up for everyone beforehand."

"Nah, don't think we'll need to. I mean, a whole shitload of people just almost got blown up, they ain't gonna do anythin' stupid for a good long while."

"That's . . . fair, I suppose."

"Besides, we've gotta get you out of this damn lab before it drives you _completely_ mad."

Xephos scowled at him. "Are you saying I'm slightly mad already?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"You are, aren't you."

"You've always been slightly mad."

"Oh, _that's_ reassuring."

"It's part of your charm!"

"Well, _one_ of us has got to have some."

"Oy, you sayin' I haven't got charm?"

Xephos grinned at him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

To his alarm, Honeydew burst into tears and flung himself upon Xephos.

"Oh, God," Honeydew sobbed. "Oh, God, I missed you. Oh, _God,_ Xeph, I've missed you. . . ."

Xephos gaped down at him, the dwarf's tears soaking through his shirt. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Honeydew.

"I'm here, friend," he promised.

Honeydew clenched his fists in Xephos's shirt and let out another broken sob. Xephos squeezed him and rested his cheek on the dwarf's head.

"I'm here."

 


	24. Epilogue

 

_Eight Months Later_

 

"Look, I'm _telling_ you, you can't just go running off back to your lab or whatever just because we're makin' Jaffas now!"

Xephos folded his arms and scowled. "I'm not _entirely_ sure what else you want to do here. We're _done,_ Honeydew, and we've _been_ done for almost a month, and I've got to get back to the master clone program. We've had far too many close calls already—"

"Yeah but—but you can't just leave!" Honeydew cried, supplicating. "This place'll fall apart in _days_ without you here!"

Xephos's face softened, and he put a hand on Honeydew's head.

"It'll be fine, friend. Sips and Sjin will be here to help you look after the place, and I shouldn't be gone terribly long. I just . . . need a little time off."

Honeydew frowned. "You've been having those _feelings_ again, haven't you."

"Honeydew—"

"I can tell you been havin' 'em, and I'll tell you this, too: they don't _mean_ nothin'. You're paranoid as shit, that's all. There ain't nothin' wrong with you and you don't have to go scurryin' off back to your lab to muck about with your brains."

"I'm not going to muck about with anything," Xephos objected, his face the very picture of innocence. "Look, do you want to be immortal or not?"

"I been immortal, and so've you, and you know how bloody unpleasant it is."

"Yes, but—look, that's not the point."

"We've built this entire god damn factory without anyone dyin', everything's _fine,_ we don't _need_ no clonin' program!"

"I'm just _worried,_ Honeydew, all right? We nearly lost Lalna, back when he blew up the village—"

"Which was his own stupid fault, and should teach him not to go buildin' nuke-yular shit—"

 _"And besides,"_ Xephos went on, "I would rather have insurance, even _if_ no one's likely to die. It's just a—a matter of principle."

Honeydew made his best puppy eyes at Xephos.

"Xeph, please. _Please_ don't go back there. Don't go lookin'. You won't find anythin' good, that's for damn sure. Why can't you just be _happy_ for two god damn minutes? Why can't you just let it _go?"_

"It's . . . not that simple. I don't expect you to understand—"

"I _do_ understand, though. Better than you, prob'ly, 'cause I understand that tryin' to figure out what's wrong with you isn't gonna help. 'Cause there's _nothin'_ wrong with you."

Xephos sighed. "I . . . maybe you're right. . . ."

"'Course I'm—"

The door to the factory burst open and Lalna sprinted in. He cannoned into Xephos and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Oh, thank _God_ you're here, you've got to help me, you've _got_ to help me, Jesus Christ—"

"Lalna! What on _earth_ happened?"

He looked over his shoulder, wild-eyed and frazzled. "He's gonna kill me," he whimpered. "Oh my God, he's gonna _kill_ me, he's gonna fuckin' _kill_ me—"

Xephos grabbed Lalna's shoulders and shook him.

 _"Who,_ Lalna? Who's going to kill you?"

"It's all gone wrong," Lalna gasped. He was trembling. "It was never supposed to—I didn't mean for it—it was just supposed to be—I never wanted—"

"Oy, slow down, you ain't makin' any sense," Honeydew said, prodding him.

"Tell us what's happened, Lalna," Xephos said.

Lalna turned back to him. White was showing all the way around his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was shaking, muted with horror.

"There's been an explosion at Blackrock," he said. "Zoey's dead."

 

 

**THE END**

 

 

 

_The Story Continues in **Blod Rosen, Blod Notten** _

_But You Knew That Already..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, so much, to everyone who has come with me on this journey. Whether you were there from day 1 or found this whole (monstrous) thing after its completion, thank you. It truly would not have been the same without you.
> 
> There will be a Q&A on Saturday, October 2, starting at 4 pm and going until ... I guess until I get tired. You can send questions to mindfulwrath.tumblr.com/ask, and view them on the main blog page or under the tag "traf bts".


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